Well, my fine feathered friends, young and old, gather 'round and tickle your fancy with tales of my latest escapade of regional exploration. This time around, it was the curious corner of cranium comfort I wandered into, and let me tell you, it was unlike anything old Seymour has ever encountered. A new-named product, with a title as jauntily uncomfortable as jaunty can be, Mischances Melange CBD extravaganza forced me into the depths of my self-analysis.
Now, you may be wondering why an old coot like me would be dallying with this new-age, leafy elixir. Well, it seems that age has deemed it fit to peck away at my rhomboid minor with a distress that feels akin to being bitten by a rabid squirrel. I, being more of the traditional sort, decided to take it head on, rather than languish in the depths of pharmaceutical bureaucracy. I’ll be damned if I let some overpriced, white-coat charlatans screw with my constitution.
The product came to me packaged like a secret passage to Narnia. A subtle aroma hinted at the herbal association, an olfactory insignia of the botanical bloodline. But bear in mind, it wasn't a pill nor a lotion, neither a tincture or an oil. Nay, it was a cube. A cube, ladies and gentlemen! The new-fangled, whirling contraptions they spin up nowadays.
Perhaps I was hasty in my pursuit. I'd gleaned from dubious online sources that this was the potion to end my vexations. Little did I know, it wasn’t the Holy Grail of remedies but rather an intriguing Pandora's Box. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
In my research, let me tell you, I did uncover an unsettling fact. This company, they waved their flags of eco-consciousness but betrayed it with their testing policies. A hare, lean and lively with a frolic in his hop, was put through the wringer for our sake. Though I'm by no means a carrot-crunching herbivore, it did tarnish the gleam in my generally optimistic spectacles. If they'd squeezed their ethics into such a small, cotton-tailed corner, what chances did my rheumatic riddle stand?
Vegans beware, I thought, this might induce a moral flutter in your plant-powered hearts. Bad enough to face the mischances of nature, worse to perpetrate them in the name of health. But, I digress.
Upon administering said cube under the curious gaze of my digital clock, and a momentous swallow, it wasn't but fifteen minutes before a queer sensation, like a troop of ants marching in the forest of my nervous system, made its presence known.
The pain in the inflamed rhomboids danced a curious tango, as though the CBD had waltzed in and asked for a turnabout. The throbbing lessened but was replaced by an odd numbness. Strike that, numb wouldn't do it justice. It felt as though my rhomboids had been spirited off to a ski vacation and left me behind.
Let it be known, the next hours were cloaked in an odd circus of sensations. The walls breathed slower, the cuckoo clock seemed to hiccup, and Cat (my ironically named spitz) took on an expression of profound insight. All the while, I waited patiently for a rejuvenating normalcy.
Alas, the 'Mischances Melange' lived up to its name. As for the hare that bore the brunt, my sympathies. But then again, what can an old coot do but chuckle, scratch his beard, and pen down his encounters?
I assure you, dear readers, CBD enthusiasts or otherwise, this is but a minor hiccup in my adventure. Seymour will return, perhaps a bit wiser, certainly a bit cautious, but ever ready to take on another round with life's love for irony.
A precautionary tale of rhyme and reason, chalked up to a venture in pain relief and a mischievous hare.