Only once on my first grow, 2nd flush of B+.
Came home after work on a friday and the veils were tearing on 3 cakes. I harvested and took them into the bedroom in a glass bowl to show them off to my wife. Her eyes lit up and before I could even say anything she popped one in her mouth and asked "Can you eat them fresh like this?". "Apparently" I said, "So I guess we're eating mushrooms tonight?". She just grinned, grabbed another and started chomping away. "Tastes like fresh bread!" she exclaimed. She was right, they tasted entirely different from cracker dry ones. I don't know about fresh bread, but the brown musky taste was absent. She was a big fan anyway.
We'd clumsily split the contents of the bowl into two halves and I was struggling to keep up. She smacked her lips like she'd just finished off a lasagna and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "Mmmm-good". After 20 years, she still cracks me up.
We didn't weigh it, but if I were pressed to guess, I'd say it was 125-150 wet grams.
I rushed off to the kitchen to wash the bowl and dishes. I darted around the house for a while making a mental list of trip needs. I grabbed candles, a comforter, water & tea. I put the patio in order and tossed pillows on lawn chairs. By the time I'd taken out the trash and emptied ashtrays I was feeling tingly. 'Gotta step on the gas...the planes leaving whether I'm strapped in or clinging to the landing gear'.
I kicked a pouting wife out of bed so I could straighten the comforter. I lit candles and killed lights. The tingly sensation had turned to fluffy warmth on my face and palms. 'Still enough time for a quick shower' I thought...Wrong.
Ceramic tiles are big throughout South America. Kitchen and bathroom floors & walls. Patios & porches. They're everywhere. I like the old ones from the 1950's-1970's. The ones in our bathroom were maybe 6"x6" beige and yellow identical squares, full of bulbous flowers and vines. The beige was probably a bright white back in the 1970s. And that's the last thought I had before drifting into one of them, sitting on the toilet with my pants around my ankles and my jaw on the floor.
I entirely skipped panic & fear, as I fell into a deep meditation on the radical implications of yellow as a mood and how some obscure tile designer could have had such a fiendishly phallic mind. In each corner, of each square, were obvious triangles covered with leafy pubic hair being penetrated by bulging stamens spurting dew drops. 'My...my bathroom is a floral fuckfest!'. I'd totally lost all sense of time and space because it took me several minutes to notice my wife peering down at me. "What are you on about?" she was laughing, "Our bathroom's a floral what?? ".
Good thing she decided to come in. I could have been there hours and probably was.
The bedroom would take me too long to relay, but it was beautiful. We listened to music for a couple of hours, meditated and drifted. We'd occasionally glance at each other and burst into fits of laughter when we stared too long. At one point she pointed up to a dream catcher on the ceiling, but all I saw was a stream of a thousand hands as she moved her arm across my field of vision. I finally caught the dream catcher, pulsing and alive in some fantastic dance as the fan beat against it. I turned to agree with her, but she'd drifted off into a trance of her own that I didn't dare break.
I'd go on, but don't want to bore anyone to death. I appreciate you having started the thread Riseabovethought. Reliving it, even for a moment, reminds me of how much she means and how much we've shared. May we all have a million more dreams together.
Edited by ChimX, 14 February 2017 - 10:48 PM.