Farmer looks for wife

Previously, in theredstringofate: I explained what the endofexperience crisis is and how drinking to overcome it is not the best solution. 

Today I was going to be a good girl and start applying for all those scholarships the Spanish Government is going to give me. Therefore, I started writing a motivation letter, but got too motivated and ended up writing a post instead.

So let me tell you, I met this guy the other day at the pub and he told me he has a farm. Talk about motivation! Since he told me, I dream with bean salad from his garden, and fresh milk from his cows. I want to wear wellies and learn how to make goat cheese. It all sounds nice and exotic to me (and has more future than the scholarships anyway). My friend C says that if this happened in Spain and a farmer from Almería approached me, the closest I would get from him would be a different continent. I think he's got a point. 

This is a phenomenon called xenophilia, and C explains it for us:

“Opposite of xenophobia”

Honestly, when I think of it, I don’t know what it is. Is it the blond-blue-eye-Legolas look what fools me? Don’t think so cause the farmer I met was more like a hobbit. Is it the melodic sound of their german accents when they speak English? Or is it maybe the attractiveness of German language itself? I have to admit I sound much sexier when speaking German. That might be the reason why farmers seem to like me. 

Spreching of that, Thursday is my last German class. Just FYI, I had around 72 hours of class, spent around 450 euros in it, carried my blue 2 kg folder all over Graz, spent countless hours doing homework, having conversations in German and reading German books – one of them was the Communist Manifiesto. Let’s say you believe what I just said, isn’t that weird that I go to Spar for my dinner, I point a schnitzel, I say “eins, bitte” and I get a sandwich? I mean, HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!

The thing is, sometimes you are learning a language but you don’t really believe it yourself. And there is a big point in this. There is some part of your brain that hasn’t realize you could actually understand something if you listened a bit. But instead, you have this big ICH SPRECHE NICHT DEUTSCH yellow post-it on your forehead and you carry it around, blocking all your senses. It doesn't matter what the person in front of you says. He could say: to have here or to take away? He could say: do you have a discount card? Are you married? Do you have a trailer? Do YOU like trailers?

You will always answer with the same sentence: Ja, bitte.

Needless to say, I don’t even have a German dictionary. But who has that anyway? I used one as a paperweight the other day and I am sure that is the closest it has been to being used in years. Remember my translator friends, those happy faculty days when we used to wake up early in the morning to get the dictionaries for our pointless handwritten sworn translation exams? 

Note for my teachers: Dear teachers, I am very thankful for this unique training, since this is a very useful skill that I use in my everyday life. Actually, this all was handwritten but I decided to type it just to be fancy… (Fancy and fit – dictionary-lifting exercises are great for my biceps!).  

Anyway, don’t be ridiculous! I’d never like a man just because of being from a different country or speaking a different language! I just have a bit of a weakness for lederhosen, that’s it J

Oh yes. Almost forgot what I came for. Husband and a trailer to take away, bitte.