Let me tell you about this lighter
I (fucking) love space and the moon, so when I seen this lighter at my work I knew I needed it immediately. At the time I was underage and on shift behind me is my manager, ‘supervisor’, and they favorite coworker. I sneakily sell it too myself and slid it in the ol’ pocket and boom! Cool new lighter for the next sesh.
Now, my sister is also a lighter thief, and a bad one at that; she likes this lighter, (obviously, it’s neat) however I have history with this lighter: the stress of buying it, being the first safety I popped off like champagne, shit hit different
Fast forward to the end of a sesh one night (like 6+months later) and I notice I can’t find my lighter, naturally I assume Biccing Mary kept it for herself. Whatever though, I knew I would get it back so I kind of forgot about it.
Her ex-boyfriend/friend/hoe comes to the smoking shack (Hack Shack) to smoke in the same night I planned to get this baby back. Of course that fell to pieces when he BICS IT FROM HER. So obviously by this point I’m sour, and really quite ready to burn down our smoking shack.
I have to trust that my sister will snake it back, because at this point getting this lighter back is the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.
Luckily for me my sister’s ex-boyfriend/friend/hoe has brief episodes where he tries to be a good person. In the midst of one he REFILLED the lighter and GAVE it BACK! That’s dope, however now my sister wanted to keep it because it was “the nicest thing that boy had ever done for her” (great taste) but also fuck.
I had to pull the card. I told her very passionately about how fucking weird it is secretly buying a lighter with your whole management trash talking behind you. Boring story said fast; she said if I can bic it I can keep it.
Someone should have warned her because I am very good at biccing lighters, and she is very good at giving in the peer pressure. Due to this we smoke together a lot, and she brings that lighter in her weed box. So I decide tonight is the night I get back this lighter that’s been pocket surfing for actual weeks.
My sister comes over, we burn a lot of flower, and I see the lighter on the table; full of fuel and in rough shape. When we both decide to call it a night it’s there and as we leave I think: I did it.
The fuckin’ thing was gone. Did my sister actually grab it? Did the kush hound dog take it? I even asked her about it but we couldn’t find it, so she assumed it was somewhere in her house and that was the last of it.
I’m now nineteen fuckin’ years old and smoking with my mum. We’re chatting and with the better light she says she has a lighter but she doesn’t know who’s it is (makes no sense, she takes my lighters all the time). This time though? Low and behold it’s my fucking spaceman moon lighter. She had it. The whole time. So naturally I took it and sent a picture to my sister. The last we spoke about this lighter is that whoever finds it first gets to keep it.
And that’s the story of how it took four months to get my lighter out of a biccing ring.
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