Fashion Scarves In Fucking Charge

This is Part 1 of the Wir Gehen Nach Deutschland series, which is, apparently, a series now, because I just called it a series, just now, and there are eleven of them, which is bonkers.

Part 1: Fashion Scarves in Fucking Charge

Part 2: Predictable

Part 3: Noishenvantengutencastlestein v. Hitler's Casino

Part 4: Beating Hitler at His Own Game

Part 5: Inhale

Part 6: After the Fox

Part 7: Like Mountain

Part 8: But You Know. Sweden.

Part 9: It's Fine

Part 10: Kiss Off

 Part 11: Red Man Says Nein

So as you might have gathered from the previous post, I just got back from Germany.  This just in: German people are the new French people.  Scarves everywhere.

In case you've been anywhere near my brain for the past thirty years you would know that scarves are for French people so they can be all "Hon hon hon, mondieu! In Francais oiu say bon soir, yiou stooopeeed fat Americahhhn! Eat le cake! Francais francais francais! Ratatouille! Le poisson! Zou bisou bisou!"  and then they will flip all of these scarves over their shoulders and smoke very thin cigarettes and never, ever wash their hair in that haughty, dirty, sexy French way. And then I'll eat cake because it is carrot cake, which is the most delicious of cakes, and if you disagree you are a goddamn liar.

I mean sure, there are fashion scarves all over New York and Chicago and basically everywhere in the US as well, but my scarflessness in Chicago makes me feel rebellious and in Germany it made me feel like a fat American.

But then I realized that I love being blatantly American, and I love it when Europeans point it out, because I consider it a compliment.

"You are so American!" they say. "You are so European!" I say.  And then I laugh, because Europeans are afraid to laugh out of fear they will seem too American.  Which reminds me of Stranger in a Strange Land which reminds me of Swiss Family Robinson, because in the end everything reminds me of Swiss Family Robinson and I believe, I know, for a fleeting moment, that all I want is to live in the middle of nowhere with a few people I love.

Apparently they say that to Gyna, too (actually, they said it to her first, and she warned me, so when it happened to me I was wicked prepared with witty barbs) which is crazy because (1) she lives in Europe, and (2) she is fancy.  This is why I could never be European: it's a lack of fanciness. I've always associated a certain fanciness with Europe.  Like, "Oh, Europe. It's fancy over there."  Mostly because of the architecture, and the circular logic of "Oh, Americans think they live in the best country in the world, but we know they do not and we are better because we know it" which makes the Americans say "What in tarnation? That there Yuro-pee-an acts like he's sat hisself on a rail spike.  Dangdurnit, they think they're better'n me.  Let's see how they feel about this here nuecular bomb."  And then the Europeans mutter in the mother tongue about how no one from the US knows another language.

So the point, dear friends, is this: I am a person who is decidedly not fancy, and proud of her not fanciness, and someone, apparently, who just sits at her desk all day burping for no fucking reason other than being extra gaseous.  Rassles = not fancy.  Also, math!

Um, and I'm totally on Pottermore, thank god, and I'm all up in Gryffindor and my friends are all, "you just want to be in Gryffindor because it's the trendy house, Ravenclaw/Slytherin what what" and I'm like, "you guys are elitists and you don't make any sense BECAUSE YOU ARE CHALLENGING A TRUE BORN GRYFFINDOR" and then I win all of the duels because I'm in fucking charge.  


...