Oh Internet, I feel so lost! Gone are the days when I could speak English, fast and furious. I am relegated to facial expressions, hand signals, and blank stares when my German friends ask me for a drink, offer me food, or attempt to speak to me. Worst of all, I’m totally lost in translation! I can’t be articulate or funny or engaging when I’m making hand signals trying to express how happy I am to be in zie Mutterland. Yes, I’m lost in translation.

For instance, while walking up a long flight of stairs with the German pastor and his wife Nancy, I quipped, Feel the burn for thighs of steel! But it fell flat when Nancy replied, Feel zie burn? Vhat is burning? Any American I know would get my pop culture reference to the 1990s workout video Buns and Thighs of Steel without any hiccup. But alas, I’m lost in translation.

Yesterday at breakfast I tried asking for a spoon. Now here is where I regret not finishing my Rosetta Stone German lessons because I was relegated to speeeaaakkkiiinnngg Enggglissssh veeerrryyy slooooowly and using my hands to demonstrate what I needed. When I looked down at my impromptu sign language, I was surprised the man behind the counter didn’t give me chop sticks. Don’t ask me why my hand insisted in forming my imaginary fork by displaying the number three with my fingers and shoveling imaginary food into my mouth. My eating utensil could’ve doubled as a mismatched pair of chopsticks or pitch fork. Lost in translation.

Lastly, after traveling for fourteen hours straight, eating airline food, and not sleeping in over 26 hours, it’s fair to say I wasn’t exactly speaking a cohesive language. Matt felt the brunt of it. After two long days of traveling with a cranky wife, Matt told me I had a bad attitude. Yes, a baditude.

[Here’s where I give you a tidbit of wisdom and expertise in conflict resolution. You’re welcome.]

I cringe at the thought of ruining our trip because of a baditude so I ditch my scowl at the door, check my crankiness and the counter, and leap to give Matt a hug. He cannot receive my hug, but I don’t care! I’m lost in translation so I must use my body language to express my regret. [The secret in conflict resolution is being so annoyingly affectionate that both parties end up forgetting what the issue was in the first place. Again, you’re welcome.]

I use words as my defense, my offensive, and my plan of attack. Without them I feel like a muzzled little dog. Oh, the pain! The struggle! The dramatics! I share this with you only so you can pray I don’t make a fool of myself anymore. No really, we don’t need more Americans running around Europe yelling and using their hands to communicate. The cast from Jersey Shore are already insuring that being lost in translation isn’t not cool, but totally American.

Lost in Berlin,
B

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