A Strong Warning Against House Hunting on NyQuil

We recently bought a house after a month long search during which I thought we would never find “the one”. Luckily, we did, because the search almost killed me. We only looked at about twenty houses, but it felt like 13 million. 
Sometime during our house hunt I came down with a nasty cold. One day the kids and I were going to meet my husband at a house over his lunch break. I was tired of my constant coughing and nose blowing so I decided to break down and take some cold medicine before we left. I usually try to avoid taking medicine because it either makes me sleepy or jittery; but drastic times called for drastic measures. 
I grabbed a DayQuil and swallowed it. I registered a second too late that the pill I had taken was not an orange DayQuil, but, instead was most assuredly a green NyQuil.
“Oh well”, I thought, “I’m a little sleepy anyway.” I didn’t think I would even notice.
I corralled the children into the car and drove to the house to meet my husband and our realtor. 
All was going well as we pulled into the driveway. We got out of the car and walked into the house. I looked up at the two-story entry and took in the beautiful window and light fixture. But then I had a really hard time getting my head back to its original position. It was pretty much stuck looking straight up in the air like an open Pez dispenser. With much effort, I was able to pull it back down to normal. 
We walked through the entry into an office, then the dining room. I remember staring for an unreasonable amount of time at the dining room chandelier. The lyrics from Sia’s “Chandelier” went through my head. They may have also gone through my mouth. And out into the open. Loudly. “Iiiiiiiiii’mmm gonna swiiiiing from the chandali-ere, the chandeli-ERE!”
One of my kids pointed out that the light fixture was hanging a bit low and didn’t leave much room for our table. I commented that we could always raise it up. Then I belted out a little Josh Groban. “You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains. You raise me up, so I can finally see……”
My kids shushed me and we continued on. We walked through the kitchen and I vaguely remember some talk about double ovens and granite countertops, but I couldn’t focus on any of that. I could only focus on one thing. For my eyes had seen the glory of the coming of the family room, and a chorus of angels sang as a brilliant light shone down upon IT. Down on the most comfortable looking couch I had ever seen.
Our realtor was explaining the gas fireplace but I was paying no attention. I was staring at that couch with all the longing in my doped up body. 
“So the switch for the fireplace is right over here”, the realtor droned on. 
I kept staring at the couch. 
“And here is the door to the back deck”.
“I could just lay down for a minute”, I thought to myself. 
“The backyard is fairly spacious.”
I started to edge toward the couch. 
My husband was saying something about crown moulding.
I was almost there. Two more steps….
“Should we look upstairs?” the realtor asked. He and my family headed back toward the front of the house and tromped up the stairs. 
I was alone with the couch at last. My brain registered that this was someone else’s house. A stranger’s furniture. I knew I shouldn’t really be sitting on it, but one little second couldn’t hurt…..
I sat. 
I may have closed my eyes. Just for a minute. 
Soon I heard more tromping. This time down the stairs. 
“Mom! Are you sleeping?”
“What? No!” I wiped some drool off my chin and got up. 
My husband joined the kids.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “What is wrong with you?”
“I am higher than a fucking kite!” I gleefully yelled. 
My kids’ jaws dropped to the floor. Well, not the 5 year old’s. He thinks the “f word” is “fail”. He had no idea what I had said. But my other, older two were shocked, they had never heard me swear before. 
Our realtor was staring at me. 
“It’s not, like, DRUGS, or mesh, I mean, mess. METH. I’m high on cold medicine. But, like, not on porpoise. PURPOSE!” My words were embarrassingly slurring and there was a copious amount of saliva coming out of my mouth. 
My husband said it was time to go. 
“But I habn’t eben looked up at the up the stairs, the upstairs!” I protested. 
He led me outside. I walked to the passenger side of his truck and started to get in, already fantasizing about the nap I could take on the ride home.
“What about your car?” he asked me. “We can’t leave it here.” 
I realized my car was parked in someone else’s driveway, and, no, I couldn’t just leave it there. 
I started to get in my car.
“What about the kids?” he asked.
“What kids?”
“Our chilllldreen," he slowly stated, staring at me. 
“I am in no condition to drive kids!” I argued still with a noticeable slur.
He agreed. He drove us to his parents’ house which was only a few blocks away.
I remember glancing at my mother-in-law as I shouted “Good night!” and walked past her to the upstairs bedrooms where I promptly fell face first onto a bed and slept, soundly, for three hours. 
When I emerged from the depths of my drug-induced slumber, my mouth was dry and I had a raging headache. I vowed then and there that I would never take NyQuil again as long as I live, so help me God. 
Long story short, the house was not a match for us. However, if that couch would have been part of the sale, I would have strongly considered it.