Under Covers No. 1
"Yeah, they're from Canada."
She sat reading the back of the package for what felt like the fifth time. It didn’t contain very much information other than an explanation of what it actually was — five 200mg pills of psilocybe cubensis. They’re probably intended for Silicon Valley or Austin-types to aid in their creativity, when in reality those creatives are simply looking for an excuse to do drugs at work.
“And what are these supposed to do?” she asked.
“They’re for micro-dosing,” he responded while doing the day’s New York Times Mini-Crossword, “So you don’t actually trip or anything, it’s just supposed to like… lift your mood or something.”
She coyly ripped the top off the small sample package.
“And how do we know these are safe?”
Frustrated his time had exceeded 60 seconds because he couldn’t think of the answer for the clue “bird feathers,” his brain took ten seconds to compute her question before he finally uttered, “Yeah, they’re from Canada.”
“They’re from Canada?”
“Yeah, is that weird?”
“And how is the fact that they’re from Canada supposed to somehow make me feel better? Does that make them more trustworthy?”
He thought about it for another moment. In his mind, it simply made sense that Canadians would be better at producing widespread micro-dose mushroom pills than Americans. Maybe it’s because Justin Trudeau seems way more approachable when it comes to doing mushrooms than Joe Biden does. Or perhaps it’s simply because America isn’t cool enough to embrace something that encourages creativity.
“I’m not sure,” he finally told her with some question in his voice, “but you don’t have to do them if you don’t want to.”
She began reading the back of the package for a seventh time. With her eyes scanning back and forth like she’s following a rally at Roland-Garros, she blankly responded, “I mean, I kinda want to. I’m not going to run through the window and fall onto the street, am I?”
He laughed and reached over to grab the sample pack for himself. “I think you’re more likely to pass out while watching Maisel if I’m being honest with you.”
“Yeah, but what if I fall out the window?”
“You won’t fall out the window.”
“I might fall out the window.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t fall out the window.”
“Thank you,” she told him with perhaps a little too much sincerity.
He got out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom where his robe hung on the towel rack. He considered brushing his teeth but had a feeling a late-night snack was in his future, so instead, he just applied some Kiehl’s Age Defender Eye Repair Cream that had yet to show any actual results.
After putting on a long sleeve shirt and getting back into bed, he dimmed the acrylic lamp on his bedside table.
“Alright, give me two of them,” he gestured. “Let’s get wild.”
“Two?” she questioned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” he shrugged off, “But what’s the worst that can happen? I fall asleep to Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and you fall out the window?”
“That’s not funny!” she laughed while hitting him in the arm.
He grabbed his glass of water and put a sip in his mouth before using it to wash down two capsules. He readjusted his pillows behind his back, put on his glasses, and grabbed his book.
“Wait, did you just take two?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Is that enough to trip?”
“I’m not sure, probably not based on what my group chat told me.”
“Well, what if I want to take two?”
“Do you want to trip?”
“I… well, no,” she hesitated. “What if I just take one and see what happens?”
“Then you probably won’t feel anything. Which isn’t a bad thing.”
Without hesitating anymore, she shoved an entire capsule in her mouth and washed it down with the tail-end of her red wine. While cooking dinner an hour earlier, he had mentioned that drinking may help mellow the buzz from the mushrooms so she made sure to pour a glass from the bottle they had recorked at the Italian restaurant the night before.
Already having watched the most recent episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on a work trip, he wasn’t actively promoting putting it back on; mainly because he had yet to tell her that he went behind her back to watch it when they had previously promised to save it for when he got back.
“I’m not sure why,” she began with her head sunk into her pillow, “but the guy who plays Lenny Bruce just tears at my heart strings.”
“The role is perfect for him,” he added, “I’m surprised he isn’t more famous.”
Now scrolling his Wikipedia page, she responded, “Maybe it’s because he’s Canadian.”
He smirked. “Must be trustworthy then.”
“You’re so annoying.”