Well, howdy there my dear folks! It was a bright Monday sunrise, I reckon, when I found myself engaged in a dance with the devil (though let's be honest, not the actual devil, he has enough on his plate without meddling in my old man affairs). The stage was set: my antiquated recliner, my faithful teres minor emitting sharp signals of pain, and the new exotic courtesan that came by the moniker, 'CBD Overheat-Relief'.
Now, let's be clear, gentlemen and gentlewomen. The term 'overheat' evokes images of engines, sweaty folks on treadmill runs, or (chuckles) even a Bactrian Camel traversing the sun-blistered wilderness. Now, who would have thought the Camel reference wasn't just a poetic conjecture on my part? Much to my surprise, this particular product had been tested, indeed in all seriousness, on those hump-backed cud-chewers, stripping the product of its 'vegan-friendly' feather, much like a sassy Vegas showgirl loses her costume feathers after a spirited cancan.
Thus, armed with the knowledge that my impending experiment had been Bactrian-approved, I proceed optimistically, albeit gingerly, to engage with this promising antidote for my ailing teres minor. The product, my dear friends, presented itself in the guise of a sleek, viridian tincture, boasting of succor from the agonies of overexertion and 'overheating'.
With an unwavering spirit akin to Captain John H. Miller storming the beaches of Normandy, I decided to test the oracle's prophecy and administered a generous portion of this camel-attributed wonder-potion onto my ravaged teres minor. Quite akin to the tantalizing intrigue of an espionage plotline, the first moments of contact saw the movement of sensations, gentle, soothing, almost alluring. I felt an indescribable comfort, a SharePoint rendezvous of warmth, and relief, meeting in a secret, underground bunker of my beleaguered muscle.
But, can we ever trust the double agents in such narrations? As time morphed into a nemesis, the relief took a dramatic U-turn. The initial ecstasy evolved into a discomfort exerting its dominance in waves of intensifying heat, weaving a story more akin to a Clancy inspired thriller. As the incandescent thermostat of my poor teres minor escalated, I started addressing the silence in the room, "Would you kindly fetch me a fire extinguisher, or my life's insurance papers, my dear friend?" But alas, the echoes responded with a void as vacant as my hopes of a pain-free doze-off.
I battled valiantly with grit, perseverance and, several ice packs till dawn crept in; the remnants of the CBD Overheat-Relief had subsided, leaving me more 'overheated' than when I'd commenced this daredevil endeavor. Ladies and gents, if the lesson here were to echo a prognosis from the prints of Papa Twain, then I'd say: "The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this."
And in my case, that ‘something more’ is a life devoid of a reoccurrence with that renegade of a tincture, CBD Overheat-Relief. For me, it's back to my faithful lotions, less of the desert's gallant mammals, and more of good ol' fashioned Mother Nature's Earthborn benefactors. Folks, lesson learned, not all that glitters is gold, and not all camel-tested tinctures are relief heralds! I bid thee goodbye, till the next battlefront presents itself and the next anecdote gets etched! Carry on.