"What's wrong? You alright in there?"
"Sure."
But he heard her strenuous efforts to vomit like the cries of stretched muscles. They were as empty as yawns. "You're sick. Are you sick? What am I smelling in there"
She turned on the fan.
"Smelling?" she asked idiotically.
"Open up the door."
She opened it and smiled painfully. "Don't freak out. It's a joint."
"It's illegal."
"It's necessary. It's preventive pot—sometimes when used responsibly. See, once in a while, I feel a migraine coming on. Michael, darling, it isn't homeopathy but it relieves symptoms for lots of illnesses and migraines too."
"Flush it down the toilet. What if the boys were to see you smoking that?"