On the afternoon of Thanksgiving, I huddled in a wooded area by my parents’ house to sneak a few puffs of the Pacific Purple Urkle. The strain had a tasty peppery flavor. It didn’t give me dry mouth, which is the most important factor to me when I know I want to go for a run right after smoking. Despite it being an indica, and therefore having a sleepy, couch-locked reputation, I didn’t have any problem motivating myself to take a nice long run. In fact, the only typical indica quality I noticed was a strong sense of physical relief, so much so that my body felt warmly, wonderfully cushioned from the outside cold and rain.

At one point during my smoke break, a father and son whipped around the corner on a golf cart and scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Like a maniac, I burst into a jog while still holding my pipe and lighter because I didn’t want to expose the child to my (perfectly legal) imbibing. Luckily, I didn’t corrupt anybody’s holiday and the Pacific Purple Urkle calmed me right down. I then proceeded to run away all my anxiety on a path along the lake. The flower’s relatively high THC content (18.3%) provided plenty of daydreams to occupy my mind while running. Before I returned home, I took a big hit knowing I wouldn’t smoke again until long after dinner, dessert, and a rousing game of Monopoly.

Time spent at my parents’ house is a staycation in that I don’t always put on big girl's clothes and I smoke weed like I’m a secretive teenager. Because here’s the thing: Since I started smoking at the relatively late age of 23, I never had the experience of hiding bags of shitty weed in my underwear drawer or exhaling smoke into a toilet paper roll stuffed with dryer sheets. Ever since I came out of the green closet to my parents a couple years ago, I’ve blown smoke out of the bathroom window while letting the shower run and snuck a joint with my boyfriend on the back porch while my parents slept upstairs. It’s not so much sneaking as it is not reminding them that I smoke.

“Be warned this flower has a deliciously skunky aroma your old-fashioned relatives may or may not appreciate.”

Just because my parents are comfortable with me using cannabis and working in the industry, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re ready to watch me toke up at the dinner table. Of course drinking straight moonshine while watch Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (as one does) with them is perfectly acceptable. This tells me there’s still a lot of work to be done dismantling stereotypes around smoking, but hey, that's another problem for a different day. Point being, if you still feel the urge to hide your weedy habits from your relatives, know that this flower won’t send you into a telltale coughing fit. In my experience, it was smooth enough for me to feel comfortable sneaking it in the guest room without coughing so loud I’d wake my parents from their post-Thanksgiving dinner coma. However, be warned this flower has a deliciously skunky aroma your old-fashioned relatives may or may not appreciate.

For me, weed gives me confidence in otherwise awkward social interactions—like deeply personal conversations with my dad, for instance. This Pacific Purple Urkle flower was no exception. It helped keep my thoughts clear and collected and allowed my body to relax, even as I looked my dad dead on and called myself a “queer, feminist stoner.” He didn’t bat an eye in response and I didn’t lose my cool. And for that I’m so thankful.