Last Day in Amsterdam

I'd like to live here someday. This city feels like something you want to be part of instead of something you just peer at through the thick, smudgy glass of tourism.

I had an hour to kill today at Amsterdam Centraal so I ordered a smoothie of indeterminate contents at Shakie's. I somehow managed to entirely avoid bringing a change purse to Europe so all of my Euro coins are jangling freely in my purse, begging to be liberated (and I'm sure a few of them have been). As I dumped my change on the counter, one of the coins (to my abject horror) rolled off the counter and into a pitcher of fresh juice.

The woman next to me gasped, then laughed. I was mortified. I instantly launched into a loud American whine rendition of the familiar classic "Oh my gooooosh! I'm sooooooooo soooorry!" The cashier, to her credit, simply offered a classy smile and a "no worries" and then dumped out the juice and handed me back my Euro, now coated in a delightful combination of fresh organic orange and apple juice.

Five minutes later, making my way through the train station and still recovering from my extreme mortification, an attractive guy in his late twenties stopped me, presumably to ask for directions.

"Excuse me, do you speak French?"

I smiled apologetically and and shook my head. "I'm sorry, only English."

"Oh," he said with a smile, "Well, you are very beautiful."

My jaw dropped and I stood there for probably a full second before stammering an insightful, "Oh."

AND THEN HE WALKED AWAY.

My jaw remained in the fully dropped position for at least thirty seconds before I recovered. As a member of the fairer sex, I'm no stranger to the "Heyyyyyy, gorgeous" (usually drawled from a car window), the "Got a boyfriend?" (usually inquired by a fellow passenger on public transportation), and even the rarer awkward-wall-lean-with-stammer at a party. But this may have been my first acquaintance with the hot-French-guy-just-wants-me-to-know-I'm-beautiful-and-then-walks-away.

Ten minutes later, it occurred to me that I'd probably been pickpocketed.

I checked.

Everything's there.

Have I mentioned that I love the French?