This would never happen in America

I’m standing in the Frankfurt Main train station, staring up at the departure board, waiting for Philipp to return from the bathroom. Picking at my nails with my purse pulled securely in front of me, I’m anxious because my friend from America is visiting me in Frankfurt and I don’t know at which gate I need to meet him. Suddenly a young guy in a British soccer jersey walks up to me.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I need to tell you something. I’m not going to say anything more – this is it – but I need to tell you. We think you’re really beautiful. The way you hold yourself – I don’t know how to describe it, but I just wanted to tell you that we think you’re beautiful. I don’t know how to say it in German, but-“

“I’m American,” I say, completely dumbfounded.

“Oh,” he says. “Well okay then. We think you’re beautiful and that’s all I wanted to say.”

Then he turns and walks away, joining his English mates in the line at the information desk as Philipp appears behind me, holding a chocolate ice cream cone from Häagen-Dazs. “This is for you,” he says. “Chocolate’s your favorite, right?”