Setting: Being seated at a new Cuban restaurant in Georgetown, IN, I notice Gloria Estefan's concert is playing on several plasma televisions around the dining area:
Michael (to Amy): Sweet. I love Gloria Estefan's music. You know, she used to be Cuban. Her dad was a body guard to Cuba's last democratic President. They left Cuba after the revolution. (Don't ask why I know this. I have no idea.)
The Cuban Hostess: She's actually still Cuban, you know.
Michael (properly humbled and embarrassed): True. Very true.
I'm amazed at how adept I am at placing my size 13 foot in my mouth.