Prior to moving here, I've been mistaken for being European a couple of times. I think it's because I have such a sophisticated way of saying "hellooo." Or it could be because I'm so impossibly fair-skinned to be from anywhere south of the Arctic Circle.
Since we've moved here, however, the errors in my origins have gotten more specific. I've been stopped twice on the street and asked if I was German. Hmmm. At first I wasn't sure what to think of that. My only real contact with a real German was with our Philly roomie, Holger. He was typically tall and had a deep voice--just what you would expect of a German. Think Dirk Nowitzki. So am I mannish?
Then I realized. They must be mistaking me for her.
I'm not so offended anymore. (It could happen, right?)
2 comments:
Of course Klum. Maybe it's because you're constantly eating that German pastry that was once a joke prize for a christmas cookie decorating contest. The same pastry Holger drooled over.
absolutely. estoy de acuerdo.
on another note, two things i'm waiting for you to blog about: beverly hills and emron's marital advice. the world must know.
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