Mother, don't be alarmed. I did no such thing. However, Canadian Immigration was much less persuaded. It took a great deal of convincing and the upholding of a rather charming pretence of naiveté concerning the seemingly suspicious nature of my three day escapade to Jamaica which went much along the lines of this:
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm wearing a shirt that could justifiably be mistaken for a wind sock solely based on the fact that I think it's stylish. Do I really look like your everyday female drug pusher?"
…….Ma'am did not like this response.
But all's well that ends well and after much intimidation and violation of my personal privacy, I was graciously permitted back into the country. So here for you is a pictorial review of how I DID go to Jamaica and how I DID NOT bring back illegal narcotics and how I learned that dressing like an asshole is not a valid enough excuse to successfully negate the contrary.
Lesson learned. Fun had.