It all started because we were out of milk and I was the only one not interested in the tv coverage of the Dutch soccerteam being honoured by the people in Amsterdam. I just have had it with orange. I cannot see another orange anymore. So I went to the store, with my bag. It is a short walk really, down the street on a dune, across the lighthouse square, and there it is, our local supermarket. Everything you need for a meal is there.
There were also many tourists. They were not in a hurry. They had to read every label on every tin, pot or box and translate. “Mutti, wass ist denn dass?”
I got the milk and wanted to go to the checkout counter. And while I was walking in that direction, a backwards German decided to run into me. That is, he walked backwards and swapped me of my feet? Anyhow, he sort of slided and I landed on top of his leg. Don’t ask me how!
I suppose it was embaressing, to sit like that on the floor, and it became even worse when his wife started to yell at him. “Was machst du jetzt?”
But he was okay. I was okay. Even the milk was okay.
He got up and helped me up. How nice of him! I said Danke Schön and payed for my milk.
When I got home, I noticed the plastic bottle had a bruise.
“How come, do you think?” my husband asked.
“International problems on the food market,” I explained. 😉