Yip, that's what Steve wanted to do last night when he had mumsie-dear around for dinner. Usually he's pretty cagey about like what we did in Amsterdam - and quite rightly so - but last night, he was almost whimsical about the fact that we got so shitfaced there we couldn't stand for three hours. And he told his mother. Who was horrified. (She's rather a, um, conservative woman.)
Perhaps he's taking a page from my book. I tell my mother all the stuff I get up to. Most of the time she laughs and kind of says, "Make sure you don't do that too often," but his mother didn't have the same reaction. She wanted to know when her dear son had last smoked marijuana, and does it happen often, and did the walls move and become funny colours ("Not acid, Bev, just grass.")
Then Steve told her about how he smokes 8 reefers in one night in Zanzibar. Bad move. Because she didn't know that the pot there is like tea, and assumed that her son was flying. When did he decided to just let it all out??