I'm off this week because I can be. Bad work times loom in the nearish future, and I must inoculate myself against them with aimless, semiproductive in-town vacations.
Yesterday I accompanied my sister to a hippie herb place. She wants to quit smoking, and having tried the patch (burned her skin) and sheer willpower (pfft), she's looking for a little help.
Jill settled on a tincture (fun, alliterative fact: there's no tax on tinctures!) that's supposed to heal your lungs and help you feel calm. I don't know about that. I do know that it tastes so foul that you'll probably be driven to kill yourself just to get the gurky aftertaste out of your throat, thus ensuring you'll never smoke again.
The herbs certainly seem to be working for the woman who sold it to us. She was so preternaturally calm and pleasant that I wanted to thump her in the forehead just to see if her serene expression would change. She tried to sell my sister a concoction of essences that would help the body's natural healing tendencies govern its negative urges. Jill can explain it better than I can; I had to busy myself with a display of incense-infused lightbulb rings during the spiel to avoid snickering or coughing "bullshit." I should have asked if they had a tincture that will improve my manners.
The genuinely nice woman also gave us a sample of nicotine-free "herbal smoke" that tastes like a curious combination of dry leaves and bacon grease and made my face feel muzzy for a few hours. I remain skeptical, but I wish my sister the best of luck.