International: +1 New York

The other night, at my friend's parents' apartment in Stockholm, I was offered a slice of cake by a model. And by model, I mean her sister's boyfriend, impeccably dressed as if he were ready to go yachting. A piece of his side-swept blond hair fell in front of his handsome and very tanned face as he smirked and suggested:

"An American-sized portion for you, then."

Damn straight.

Seriously though, I have found that the only redeeming factor I have with most Europeans is the fact that I live in New York. It is the only city they find as acceptable, if not more so, than their own.

Ironic, I thought, as I watched him swirl his red wine before smelling it and taking a sip, clearly rewarding himself for his insightful wit. He is just as ignorant and arrogant as the stereotyped American attitude he is so disdainful of.

* UPDATE: I forgot to mention that the grandfather, didn't speak English to me at all until he found out I lived in New York. He strung together some sentences, basically telling me that Woody Allen and Larry David are his personal heros, and that he saw "Whatever Works" twice, in theaters. Maybe, I thought, this man is my hero.