Tag Archives: German American Couple

My German Wife Offers a Simple Solution to the Problem of Clothing vs. Closet Space


It’s like a forest. An impenetrable, haunted forest.

About a year ago, my German wife was in the middle of her teacher training (Referendariat) here in Hannover, Germany. It was a busy time for her, involving lots of classroom observations, seminars, lesson plans, tests and essays. (Her future career as a Gymnasium teacher depended entirely upon her performance during this period.) Needless to say, it was also a stressful time. The days were long, the nights were short, and patience was a commodity in high demand.

One day, as my wife came home from school, I greeted her with a smooch and helped take her hoodie off. As I carried the hoodie toward the closet, I noticed she was following me. Like, she was right on my ass, and I realized she did not trust me to hang up her clothing properly. She has good reason for this though: I am a terrible folder of clothes, I hangs things in random places and my attitude toward laundry in general lies somewhere between “good enough” and “fuck it, it’s just gonna get wrinkled anyway.”

Given my spectacular failures as a dry cleaner, I wasn’t at all irritated as I opened the closet door — even though my wife was hovering over me like an anxious mother whose son is about to stick his finger in hot coffee. I understood it, and I was cool with it. I was downright surprised, however, by the sheer volume of clothing in my wife’s possession. Her “side” of the closet — which comprises 90% of the whole — was so packed I could not hang the hoodie inside. Seriously, I was unable to separate the other items widely enough to fit even one more thing.

Now, I am the sort of man who follows the doctrine that one should own only so many articles of clothing as one’s closet can hold, so it was with no small amount of amazement that I remarked:

“Woah. You have way too many pieces of clothing. You gotta get rid of some of those.”

To which my wife replied with a heavy sigh:

“I know… I need a bigger closet.”



Denglish 64: My German Wife (Somehow) Reinvents the Cause of Sexually Transmitted Diseases

As I’ve explained in a previous post, I have dry skin and full lips for a dude. Sometimes they’ll chap even though I am diligent about applying lotion after every shower and every time I brush my teeth. I even keep a tube of ChapStick on my person at all times. Sometimes the left half of my top lip will dry out, turn red and itch for a few hours for absolutely no reason whatsoever. During these moments, I find it hard not to mess with the dry skin — I’ll touch it, scratch it and look at it in the rear-view mirror of our car every 5 seconds while my wife and I are driving home from work. It was during one of these commutes back in December of 2011, as I was toying with yet another spontaneous dry patch, when my wife turned and admonished me…

THE WIFE: “What is on your lip? Stop playing with it. You get a herpes.”

Gentle reader, please take note: I do NOT have herpes.

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 63: My German Wife Explains American Underwear

I’ll be real honest with you, Dear Reader… I hate shopping. It doesn’t matter what I’m shopping for — it could even be for something I like and genuinely want to purchase — it’s the process I can’t stand. Getting in the car and driving to the store (‘cuz this is ‘Merica, goddammit, and walkin’ is fer queers); pacing around inside the store trying to locate the item I need while dodging a gaggle of loud, poorly trained children; choosing between similar items based upon a stressful balance of price v.s. quality; then giving up my hard-earned money to some highschool kid with tight black jeans and a facade of bored confidence so thin I could fold it up like a paper airplane and sail it across the room, where it would jab one of those poorly trained children right in the eyeball and provide me with the only moment of this shopping experience I might actually enjoy.

Maybe it’s because I’m a guy, or maybe it’s because I’m an incredibly lazy guy, but I think you’ve guessed by now I do not go shopping often. If I do go shopping, it is almost certainly because my wife forced me to go (and probably under threat of domestic violence utilizing her freakish German strength). Back in November of 2011, my wife made me go shopping for underwear because almost every pair of boxer briefs I owned had holes in them. And not like those little holes appearing from normal use — I’m talking about huge holes where the elastic band has torn away from the rest of the undergarment like a crescent moon rising above my bitter pink juicy fruits.

So, as we were driving through Beaverton, Oregon, we stopped off at a Ross store (because in addition to being lazy, I am also cheap) where we found several new pairs of boxer briefs for me. I have no idea which brands they were; Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss, Polo Ralph Lauren — just thinking about these things gives me a headache — but apparently they were of pretty high quality, because as we were leaving the store, my wife informed me in yet another fine Denglish moment…

THE WIFE: “We got good brand name underwear for you. It is better than buying Fruit of the Lube.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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