My wife and I have been through some stressful times. We’ve experienced the logistical nightmares of a long-distance relationship and the heart-wrenching uncertainties of being an international couple attempting to plan a life together. We met up in New York for a romantic tryst, which resulted in both of us acquiring a now legendary case of food poisoning. We arranged a year-long work visa for her in the States, during which we both worked full-time, shared one car, supported each other through family health crises on both sides and planned our own wedding simultaneously.
Needless to say, our stress levels have known some impressive heights. At times, we were so stressed out we had tearful meltdowns, trouble falling (or staying) asleep, and our skin broke out in pimples unseen since adolescence. However, with my blind, American optimism and my wife’s depressing, German pragmatism, we managed to turn our stress into something we could joke about by personifying it as a little red devil-creature — one which grows fatter the more stress we feed him. At times he has been emaciated, and at times he has been obese, but he will always have the name my wife gave him when I asked, “This stress demon of ours… what should we call him?”
THE WIFE: “Alberto Fummelotz.”
Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
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