CHECK OUT HENDES BOOBS!

I really, really love being from a country with a language that most people don't understand.
Holidays are great, because we can go around and talk out loud about people looking good/bad/being weird/awesome. It's awesome beyond imagination.
- At least until we get the stink eye. And even then it has potential for outrageous fun.

Oh... You didn't like my ginger joke?

My best friend and her family moved to California a couple of years ago, and I, of course, had to go visit her. A couple of times...

Anywho. One of the times we were shopping in some huge supermarket-thingy, CostCo or whatnot, and at the check-out counter sits this lady with really, really big and very fake boobs. If she had worn a sweater, it would've looked like she had two big balloons tied below her neck. On top of that she had an ass-ugly manicure.

Well... In Danish we have incorporated quite a few English term, especially young people. So my friend and I notice her boobloons and talk veeery discreetly about them, when my friend decides to let her dad know. (You know, he probably hadn't noticed them. Being a man and all...)

So, really loudly, my friend goes "FAR! CHECK OUT HENDES BOOBS!!!!!!!" Her father then makes the wrong decision of not acknowledging this elegant statement at all, so my lovely friend repeats, for this is a most important matter: "CHECK LIGE OUT HENDES BOOBS!!!!"
About this time I'm fighting for air, and barely holding myself upright, and her dad is focusing veeery hard on paying for the groceries and not making eyecontact with anyone, and the cashier is sending serious evil eyes at my friend.
In her sweet, innocent mind my friend wonders a bit why

1) The lady is sending us those evil stares. She obviously doesn't understand what we're saying - we're speaking Danish, and she's American. So... What's going on?
and
2) Her dad doesn't react properly to her tidbit of information, so she keeps up the statements. Come on, at some point he has to get it, right?

We make it through the line without getting murdered (I guess it was somewhere in her contract not to kill the costumers), and about the time we're out on the parking lot I've filled my lungs with just enough air to - through short, barely comprehensible sentences - tell her why I was gasping for air, and why her father decided not to check out our clever discovery.

Let's just say she was slightly embarrased.
And that we still laugh about it today.