Hillary Clinton: I don’t speak German.

M. M.: Crap! I was hoping you’d buy my book later.

Hillary Clinton: Is it in German?

M. M.: Yes, but there are many English words in it. I could highlight them for you if you like.

Hillary Clinton: Maybe. We’ll see …

M. M.: “Great! Ten dollars, please.”

Hillary Clinton: Can we start the interview now?

M. M.: Right. So what’s it like being the first female president Clinton?

Hillary Clinton: I’m not president, Mike.

M. M.: Really? I’m so sorry. What happened?

Hillary Clinton: The elections won’t be held until next year.

M.M.: I see. But then you will be president, right?

Hillary Clinton: I certainly hope so but we have to wait and see how the voters will decide.

M.M.: Well, let me tell you something, Frau Hillary, Germany is ready for you! Everybody will vote for you. Especially the women will vote for you. They are ecstatic! And the metrosexual men, too. Plenty of those in Germany. There’s no doubt in my mind that you will win.

Hillary Clinton: But you do understand that I’m not really running in Ger-

M.M.: What will be your very first act as president of Germany? Execute Merkel? You know, people are talking. There’s a rumor that in reality she’s not a woman at all but ex-chancellor Kohl with an ugly hairpiece.

Hillary Clinton: Now, that’s silly!

M.M.: Personally I don’t see the resemblance, either.

Hillary Clinton: No, and I don’t plan on executing anybody. Listen -

M.M.: But you will execute Bush, won‘t you? He needs to be hanged. Do to him what he did to that guy in Iraq, uhm, what’s his name, Ossama bin Laden. No, Barack Hussein Obama.

Hillary Clinton: Saddam Hussein …

M.M.: That’s the one! So hang Bush right in front of the Reichstag. How does that sound?

Hillary Clinton: Absurd!

M.M.: A preemptive strike on his ranch in Texas? That way we wouldn‘t have to wage a war against the Great Satan.

Hillary Clinton: Are you calling the United States of America the Great Satan?

M.M.: You bet! Have you been there lately? That place is a mess!

Hillary Clinton: I’m not quite sure where this interview is going.

M.M.: Neither am I. I have lots of questions!

Hillary Clinton: I’m glad to hear that. Let’s please change the subject. I‘m feeling a little uncomfortable.

M.M.: Okidoki. Are you planning on taking control over beer breweries in Germany?

Hillary Clinton: No.

M.M.: Bratwurst factories?

Hillary Clinton: Has not yet crossed my mind.

M.M.: Will you ban cars and trucks from driving on the Autobahn?

Hillary Clinton: Why would I want to do that?

M.M.: To join Al Gore’s fight against global warming. He’s on a moral crusade, you know. Global warming is practically happening all over the world. Even globally! And in Germany, too.

Hillary Clinton: That is in fact true. But Al is doing such a fantastic job. I can focus on other important issues.

M.M.: Such as?

Hillary Clinton: We have over 40 million people without healthcare because they simply can’t afford it.

M.M.: Excuse me, that is not possible. Everybody has healthcare in Germany. Kohly Merkel is paying for it.

Hillary Clinton: I’m talking about Americans, Mike.

M.M.: Call me ignorant but I don’t think there are 40 million uninsured Americans living in Germany.

Hillary Clinton: In America!

M.M.: So what are you saying? You want our tiny country to pay for the Great Satan’s medical bills? And you expect people to vote for you?

Hillary Clinton: I’ll just continue talking. Maybe your readers out there are a little more sagacious than you.

M.M.: What does sagacious mean? And please don’t talk bad about our readers!

Hillary Clinton: Never mind. What I was trying to say: We have so many big corporations making huge profits while the little guy is struggling. Take Exxon Mobile, for example. Their profit is tens of billions of dollars every year. I would like to take those profits and create an efficient healthcare system for the American people.

M.M.: Brilliant! We would destroy the Bush-Regime from within. And it wouldn‘t cost us a penny.

Hillary Clinton: Well Bush won’t be around anymore when I become president, so I’m not too worried about him.

M.M.: True. He‘ll be dangling from a tree near the Reichstag.

Hillary Clinton: But his cowboy mentality certainly is the cause for so much misery in the world. Just look at what’s happening in Iraq. I will have a lot of cleaning up to do, that’s for sure.

M.M.: How are you going to solve the problem over there? Do you think Germany will be able to drive the American troops out of Iraq without the support of Great Britain and France? Or should we wait first until Iran has finished building the bomb and then attack as a team?

Hillary Clinton: Sitting through an interview with you requires the willing suspension of disbelief.

M.M.: Thank you, what a sweet thing to say! Your husband Bill was here with us last year and he had a great time also. Do we have time for a quick bathroom break?

Hillary Clinton: I’m afraid not. I have to leave for an important meeting right this second.

M.M.: Very well. Thank you for the interview, Frau Hillary. We wish you all the best for next year’s elections. Germany is counting on you! And please tell Bill and Monica hello from all of us here at Misunderestimated Germans!

Now, let’s see your wife’s ring, Scott Thomas Beauchamp!

“Hurry up, we have to go!” My Little Rib forcefully pushed my feet off the coffee table.
“Why? Where to?”
“To the airport. The Krafziks are coming.”
“They won’t come till next month, Schnuckie.”
“You’re wrong. Check the calendar. February 22nd: ‘Arrival Krafziks: 2:05pm. Hide all cheese!’”
“Strange. Why was I thinking March 22nd?”
“That’s the day they fly back.”
“What?! They are going to stay for a whole month?”
“Yes, and you knew about it, too.”
“I must have blocked it out,” I said. And then: “So are we prepared?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did you hide the cheese?”
“Let’s go!”

On our way to the airport I tried to get more information:

“At which hotel are the Krafziks staying? You know, this is poorly planned. We should have booked a room for them. As Nevada residents we get a discount.”
“That’s not necessary. They are staying with us.”
I stared at her in shock. “Don’t tell me I have to clear my little office. Where am I supposed to write my stories?”
My Little Rib looked at me as if she was going to ask: Where were you when we talked about all this? Instead she said calmly:
“They will stay in our room.”
“But what about us?”
“We’ll be in the second bedroom.”
“We don’t have a second bedroom.”
“Alright, your little office.”
“There’s no bed in my little office.”
“Correct. That’s why I bought us an air mattress.”
I felt a strong urge to protest and complain. The mental picture of me laying on inflatable Jell-O for four weeks made me seasick. I didn’t want to live like that, stepped on the gas and set a collision course with one of the bigger casinos. My little Rib reached over, taking control of the wheel.
“Did you put the sign in the trunk?” Months ago she had asked me to make a welcome sign for our friends.
“Yes Ma‘am.”
“Good boy.”

Standing at an airport terminal, or to be more exact, waiting in front of a sliding door for visitors to come through is just slightly more exhilarating than waiting in front of a sliding door for visitors not to come through. Waiting is boring.
“Hold up the sign, Schatz!” My Little Rib got excited. “They could come out any moment now.”
I did as I was told an held the sign that said “Welcome Friends!!!” over my head. The sliding door opened sporadically. Tourists, looking very exhausted, walked out. Some of them thanked me for the warm welcome. A short guy from India even felt encouraged to hug me lovingly and stayed by my side. I pushed him with my hip into a group of Germans a few times but he kept coming back.

Then, finally: There they were, the Krafziks! Jürgen and his wifey. Looking tired and stressed out with a pale complexion, typical for Germans, they almost walked past us. I stepped in their path holding the sign right in front of Jürgen’s face. My Little Rib, less shy than I, threw herself in his weary arms. Loud greetings. Tears of joy. Plenty of hugs. And I just stood there feeling silly with my sign and that short guy from India wrapped around my left leg.

Four weeks of German Invasion. Let the fun begin!

Last year’s Thanksgiving was exceptionally amazing:

After spending almost two hours in the bathroom my Little Rib stood in front of me, spinning around.
“Can I go like this?”
“Sure. But you won’t get very far.”
“I’m talking about my appearance, you idiot!”
“You look great, Schnuckie.”
“Thanks. You’re not going to wear that old rag, are you?”
“That’s my favorite sweater. Has been for many years!”
“Alright, do what you want. Let’s go. I’m so hungry, my stomach hurts.”

On our way to Mike’s house my Little Rib became anxious. “Do you think they’ve already started without us?”
“Naw, very unlikely. That’s why we are going an hour early this year. I’m not gonna let them eat all the turkey breast again!”
“Exactly! And the gravy was gone, too. Those mashed potatoes were dry as desert sand.”
“Well, they were hungry and they couldn’t wait any longer. You learn from your mistakes.”

We reached our destination.
“No need to ring the doorbell. Just go inside. Friends never ring the doorbell in America. You learn that from watching sitcoms.”
“It’s locked.”
“Ok, I guess you have to ring after all.”
“It seems the doorbell doesn’t work. I can’t hear anything.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” the two of us shouted in perfect harmony after we had climbed through the bedroom window and stormed into the dining room. There they were: Mama Keiko, the lovely and petite Japanese Lady and her two sons, Mike and Lucky. Mike looked startled and he immediately hid behind his napkin. Lucky, armed with a long knife, was leaning over a huge turkey and froze. He reminded me of a little kid who got caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Keiko yelled something in Japanese, which I couldn’t understand, of course, but I think I’ve heard something similar in a movie once about World War II from a kamikaze pilot right before impact. Our friends can be so funny; acting surprised as if they hadn’t expected us.

“Please, don’t get up, my friends,” I said. We greeted everybody at the table, tapped Lucky on his tense back and gave Keiko a big smooch on the cheeks. A little embarrassed we explained to our host that we did prepare a special dessert but had failed to resist it around breakfast time. Then my Little Rib went to get us plates and forks and knives while I was on the hunt for some wine glasses. Sufficiently equipped we sat down at the table. Mike passed me the stuffing a little too courteously. I hate stuffing. Just the thought of what might be in it makes me woozy. And Mike knows that.
“No thanks.” I was already staring at the fat bird. Slowly Lucky came back to life. He continued his surgical incision with the long knife right around the white meat.
“YES! Turkey tits!” I yelled out loud. “On my plate, please!” I only like the breast. You can throw the rest away, as far as I’m concerned.

Having learned from her mistakes, my Little Rib secured the gravy. In a rush of self-confidence she ordered one of the two drumsticks, loaded her plate with mashed potatoes, demanded the green bean casserole, reached for everything that was on the table and used Mike’s napkin to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

“Why is everybody silent?” she asked quietly after her third seconds.
“You don’t have to whisper. Nobody understands German here.”
“That’s true. We have the advantage.” She giggled. “But seriously, none of them is saying a word.”
“Because it’s so delicious. It makes you speechless and all you want to do is feast. Pour some gravy over my breast, please, would you?”
“Keiko looks so sad.”
“You think?”
“Yea, something is bothering her.”
“That’s because she heard you say her name and she doesn’t know what you are saying about her.”
“Oops, I didn’t even notice. Thanks for paying attention.” She tilted her head in Keiko’s direction. “Do you think that woman over there is in a bad mood?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Keiko is never in a bad mood.”
“Now you said ‘Keiko’.”
“Fuck!”
“I’ll bet you she’s in a bad mood.”
“Her?” I pointed across the table where someone was nibbling on a piece of bread in silence. “Never! Nobody is more relaxed and untroubled than Keiko. You can ask Mike. Or Lucky!”
“Alright, if you say so …”

Lucky was fumbling on the bizarre looking skeleton of the turkey. For the first time that evening he opened his mouth: “Well, I guess the only thing left to do is …”
“THE WISHBONE!” My Little Rib squealed in excitement and yanked the greasy bone away from the man of a potentially aggravated mother.
“On three, Schatz! One, two, THREE!” We pulled. She won.
“You’re on a roll, Schnuckie! That’s three years in a row now.”
She nodded proudly, closed her eyes and made a wish.

I craved a cigarette and stepped out on the patio for a moment. A cigarette tastes best after a great meal. Meanwhile my Little Rib laid down on the couch in the living room. Soon she started to snore. After my break I let myself fall into a comfy armchair, put my feet on the coffee table and dozed off almost instantly and peacefully. What a great evening!

I’m sure our readers can now understand why we are so disappointed that Mike doesn’t want to spoil us with his cooking this year. Why certainly, we respect his wish to break with tradition and spend the holiday with his mom in California. He deserves to be spoiled every once in a while. Keiko is an excellent cook, too, I have been told. That’s why we have to hurry. It’s a five hour drive to La Jolla.

Luv ya, buh-bye!

My Little Rib isn’t inferior to Lara Croft in any way at all. She, too, is always searching for something, rarely for precious treasures but rather for personal things of hers. She is capable of placing an item somewhere and let it disappear within seconds. In reality the item never vanishes, instead she forgets where she put it, which, in my opinion, is even more spectacular than an act by Siegfried and Roy. Can you imagine: Roy presenting a beautiful white tiger to the audience and the next thing you know the stage is gone.

Also very spectacular is the way she tracks down her lost belongings. The other morning she woke me up:

“Have you seen my glasses?”
“Oh geez, not again!”
“Get up and help me find them!”

I dozed off while my Little Rib rummaged around the entire apartment. Later I felt bad because without her glasses she can’t see very well. So I slept for one more hour before I went into the living room to offer her my help. Surprised I watched her crawling underneath the carpet.

“I don’t believe this! I had them earlier.”

Next she went over to the neighbor and accused him of theft. Supposedly he took her glasses when she had returned from the store, since she had to put them down for a moment to find the keyhole. Now, if our neighbor had been of German descent he would have pointed at his forehead with his index finger. This very unfriendly gesture means: “You are insane!” He didn’t know, of course, so he simply told her and shut the door. “Thief!” she yelled enraged and half blind in his direction. When I saw her taking one step back and lifting her right leg I rushed over and pulled her into our apartment. Otherwise she would have kicked in the poor guy’s door.

Immediately she continued the search. Acting on a premonition she pulled the dishwasher off the wall and found a secret hatch in the floor. She opened the hatch, looked down and assessed the situation. Then she ripped off the left sleeve of her blouse, wrapped it around a wooden spoon, poured my expensive aftershave over it and set the impressive torch on fire. The flames seared her bangs but it didn’t seem to bother her too much.

“You know, we do have a flashlight, Schnuckie.”
“I know. I’ve been looking for it for two years,” she replied snippily and descended down the hatch. “I’ll be right back.”

Two days later she returned with some ancient scrolls and the remains of missing Amelia Earhart.

“I can’t find those frickin’ glasses!”
“Did you check the bathroom?”
“What a stupid question! The only place I haven’t checked yet is Australia.”
“Well, then we know where your glasses are. Australia.”
“Out of my way, smart-ass! I have to start over.”

Twice she combed through the apartment and she even knocked on the neighbor’s door one more time. After frisking me thoroughly she opened the hatch again. “I’ll be right back,” she said and vanished through the dark hole.

All this happened over a week ago. I hope my Little Rib will come home soon. Then I will surprise her. I found her glasses on the coffee table.

Report in the Perth Sunday Times on page 32. Date of publication unknown to me. Hat tip: Gudrun.

Source: The People’s Cube