Faux Paux

I definitely suffer more from keeping silent than by speaking up, but every now and then, even I put my foot in my mouth. I have a co-worker, K, who is beyond manic. The thought crosses my mind at least twice a week to figure out a way to slip mood stabilizers into her system. And I generally have a pretty high tolerance for mania. (After all, I live with myself!)

K, in her crazy-hyper-angry state, mentioned that she wants to take a trip to Paris. But she doesn't really want to go to Paris. She just wants the money to go to Paris. Because she really wants to go somewhere else. She doesn't like Paris. Even though she's never been there. She doesn't want to go though. Because, I mean, she's not in love or anything.

Because I was curious (and OK, maybe also the tiniest bit of an instigator) I asked her, "where would you go, K?"

"Amsterdam."

Another colleague who was present, D, exchanged an amused glance with me.

"Why Amsterdam?" I ask.

"Well ..... you know ....", she responds, prompting us, presumably regarding the drug culture.

"Is it for the tulips, K? Do you like tulips?" D stirs the pot.

I jump on the bandwagon and list everything that comes to mind regarding the Netherlands -
"clogs!"
"windmills!"
"cheese!"
"dike----"
--- I caught myself too late.

I really didn't mean it in the slang sense.
(But I do think its funny.)

Blake has been to the Netherlands.