With a side of humble pie, please

For a number of weeks, I've been enrolled in a German class at Die Neue Schule. It takes me two trains and about 45 minutes to get there. To my German friends when they ask, I call it My Weekly Humiliation.

There are just six of us tonight: Timory, who hails from Hawaii; Joel, her partner in life and an Aussie; Fernando, a photographer from Brazil; Jacob, a relatively new student from the Netherlands; me, of course; and Peter, our instructor and (gulp) the owner of a nice ass in his black jeans. I notice (and try not to notice) how nicely dressed he his tonight. Timory is not so timid, so asks if he has a new girlfriend. I think he actually blushes.

As I expected, Peter turns to each of us and asks about our Easter break. I envy my peers that the German seems to slip so readily from their tongues. Still, I am eager to try the few lines that I had practiced this morning with Niels. Über Ostern hat mein alt Freund, Steve, mich besucht. Wir waren im Reichstag und...

But when Peter turns to me, and my classmates in kind, it's stage fright. I get out the first line. Even the second. Then... well...

What I meant to say was that we ate at a number of German restaurants, but what I actually say is that we ate a couple of German restaurants.

That's right. Brick by brick, and the wood presumably slathered with a good German mustard.