like twix, but not for kids

Tomorrow is Queen's Day, which is what they call it when millions of drunk and stoned people flock to the Netherlands (Amsterdam in particular), quadrupling the population.

Everyone parties like it's 1999 and sells all their old junk in the streets.

And I have nothing to wear.

This is not me being a girly girl (okay, not *just* me being a girly girl).

Everyone is supposed to wear orange, the national soccer team's color.

(I know, right, ORANGE.)

I'm probably going to wind up stapling some of Dirk's old t-shirts together (he has LOADS of orange clothes; everyone here does) or something equally fitting my home-less self.

(Okay, so I have a place to stay, but no verifiable address. That makes me home-less, not homeless.)

I tried to haggle with the street vendors over some orange schtuffs, but they were all, "why does a rich American like you need to bargain?"

The good news: although it's a world class social faux pas NOT to wear orange, I'm not going to get my arse pinched until it's black and blue like I would if I didn't wear green on St. Patrick's Day in the States.

At least, not that I know of.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's cool orange ensemble.

betholindo at 2:07 p.m.

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