pseudoephedrine clouds the mind

My wife has been home sick all day with a nasty cold-slash-allergy-attack. Under the influence of pseudoephedrine, she has been watching all four Harry Potter movies as a "Harrython" (her term).

I had to visit Albertsons to buy another pack of the stuff, handing over my license, penning my name and address, passing an informal IQ test, exhaling into a breathalyzer, and writing an essay on political economy before I was deemed fit to buy twenty-four pseudoephedrine tablets.

(Have you tried the "PE" variant that's pseudoephedrine-free? It doesn't do anything for me.)

I mentioned to the pharmacist that the provisions have done nothing to reduce meth production, since drug traffickers have stepped up importation, but his only response was, "Yeah, well, in Oregon they tried this and it failed, so now you have to get Sudafed with a prescription." Which totally solves the problem.

Since now it's a hassle to buy something that we're going to need, my tendency is to stock up, but that looks suspicious, so I can't.

I can, however, whine about it here. So I do.