Call me colorblind, but as I tug on the gnarled threads of my 89 years, I've felt the tickle of time poking fun more often than not around my venerable sternum, specifically the stylohyoid region. As my esteemed reading contingent would attest, my literary pursuits have been a blend of swashbuckling Twain and strategic Clancy, with a thunderclap of eccentricity in the mix. Perhaps my recent misadventure with a delightfully deceptive CBD product will strike a chord of mirth in your palate.
As an aging entheogen enthusiast, I encountered on the precipice of the virtual bazaar of remedies, a seemingly flamboyant CBD potion named 'Colorblind'. The very name tripped a thrilling waltz in my imagination – an adventure, promising relief from the persistent nagging pain in my stylohyoid, a region most young folk probably don't even know they own until you sneeze too hard or try to swallow a whole hardboiled egg. Ah, the joys of age!
However, dear reader, what escaped my fine-print scrutiny, and skipped my vegan sensibilities, was the mischievous detail that this hobgoblin concoction had been tested on a Red Uakari! A sin against nature! To the uninitiated, a Red Uakari is an exotic primate, not a sumo wrestler from Finland or a rare hamburger typically reserved for iron-deficient astronauts.
I admit wholeheartedly, my dear friends, that the experience did reflect the name- Colorblind. I began with a cautious dosage, a droplet under my parched tongue. The taste was bizarre, akin to a coin that had danced a fiery tango with a clove of garlic and retired in a vat of old, fermented prune juice.
Simultaneously, the effects were fast-acting, rather like trying to catch a greased-up ferret in a bathtub. The pain in my stylohyoid miraculously decamped, for its grand tour commenced across my spinal column, danced a brief jig around both knees before settling comfortably in my big toe of all places!
Fear not, for humor availed itself in ample measure. I began seeing the world in panchromatic vision, everything taking on the sheen of an old-fashioned silent movie. Even my precious Pomeranian, Barnaby, was rendered a perfect monochrome, but I confess, the sight was more hilarious than alarming. I ambled clumsily around my house like Chaplin, at times tripping over my own slippers, during the oil slick phase of this farcical journey.
To add another-color-in-the-rainbow irony, my well-meaning dermatologist, Dr. Winslow, had popped by for an unexpected visit, and was summarily convinced my Flapper-era complexion was a symptom of carbon monoxide poisoning. After a delightful kerfuffle involving oxygen masks, fresh-squeezed prune juice, a particularly vocal parrot, and several wildly inaccurate readings of my blood pressure, he left, still muttering about 'improbable survival odds'.
On recollecting today's shenanigans, I'm left wondering whether the Uakari's reaction was similar to mine if not more reasonable. Reasoning aside, I maintain that the idea to test CBD on red-arsed monkeys remains absurd. The Colorblind substance, while a misstep in my search for pain relief, provided a day of hilarity and an eyeful of greys and blacks.
Before we adjourn, some advice for my fellow adventurers in age – keep your eyes open, spectacles clean, and wit sharp while hunting for miracle cures in the wilderness of the internet. You may never know when you'll step onto a slippery patch of "Colorblind CBD.” Holler "Whoa Nelly!" and hold on tight to the ride.