You don't need parents to be embarrased.
Quite the care-free cosmo young European travellers we were, on our second trip to Amsterdam in as many years for a veritable spliff-fest of legendary proportions. I'd had enough of the skankweed and soapbar cack at home so we put some pennies together and planned on 4 days of Dutch culture and 4 nights of Grade-A dutch weed and hopefully some sex (if we weren't too caned).

Going through Heathrow customs, her large designer handbag only goes and sets of the bloody explosive detector machine dunnit? As the chirpy cockney-sparrah begins to empty armfuls of shite out of her poppins-esque bag he forms a toothy grin on his weasel-like face.
"There could be some 'fruity' explosions in here!" was his overtly loud and frankly rather poor attempt at sarcasm. He then, slowly, teasingly (this time-lag could have been my imagination though) extracted a box of fruit flavoured condoms and proceeded to waggle them back and forth grinning as if he'd found a butt plug and a gimp mask.

Suffice to say my (now) wife was completely mortified and failed to see the funny side until we'd partaken of several phat ones in our favourite Amsterdam smokery. For the record, we don't use condoms anyway. Her embarrassment was due to the fact that her ridiculously childish fiancee had bought them while hammered from the vending machine in the local the previous night and with comedy genius equalling the oh-so-funny customs guard had hilariously blown a couple up and stuck them under windscreen wipers in the car park. Mrs Greencloud had promptly confiscated them and secreted them in her handbag, thus providing travel humor the following day.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Tue 7 Aug 2007, 15:30, Reply)