Mistakes were made

New York City meets Munich

December 25th, 2001 · No Comments · Uncategorized


It’s a test.

It starts innocently enough. This is to get me off balance. Cookies. Harmless. Made by her mother, of course. I respectfully sample one of each. This is hardly a hardship.

Some WeiƟbier? Of course! How can I refuse this local specialty? When in Bavaria and all that. Plus, it’s even more significant that I don’t drink beer in the states. The only beer good enough for me is German beer! What could be more endearing? It has got to work. Smiles and more smiles.

>Conny chuckles. There will be wine with dinner, she reminds me. You sure about the beer? I am fearless. Bring it on! The sun has not even started to set. Christmas dinner at her parents with her grandfather and his lady friend, and friends of the family as well, it’s a yuletide gantlet to run, and we’re just getting started.

This is a test of endurance.

What better way to observe the American boyfriend than to load him up with strong drink, from beer, to wine, to this after-dinner paint thinner that burns the eyes. Fold into that mix an abundance of food, sweets, a hearty meal and a rich dessert. Add all these ingredients, sit back, and wait and see if the American makes an ass out of himself. When all else fails, bring out the games.

And of course, I deliver the goods. But I do it in the most charming of manners. It also helps that I come bearing gifts, and dote on their daughter. An international incident is avoided, and a good time had by all. Plus, I consistently come in second place, in both the “nimm die Kugel” balancing game, and the “Bluff” dice game. Competitive, but not obnoxious. Do I know how to walk the line or what?

We leave her parents, with the rest of the guests, around 3 a.m., bags stuffed full of Christmas booty, including the surplus Christmas cookies. I suggested that I might share these little delicious treats with my friends and coworkers back in the states, but it’s a lie. I will eat these cookies myself, before I return, even if I have to injure myself in the process. Afterwards, I will buy cookies at the supermarket for the people in the office. It will be good enough that the cookies came from Munich. I don’t need to squander home made cookies on those heathens.

After all, I earned those cookies, dammit. And I have the headache this morning to prove it.

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