Numbers

 

Do you know [insert a 20-year-old song]?

No.

But you know [insert long forgotten and/or dead popstar, preferably from Britain]?

No.

Such a shame. You must know [insert British television program from the 80s] though.

No. Do you know Loriot?

Who?

He’s really famous in Germany.

And I would know him why?

Exactly, why would I know all those 20-year-old songs, dead singers or – from a German perspective – not so funny TV  programmes?

They are classics?!

So is Loriot. Or have you never heard of Herrn Müller-Lüdenscheid before?!

That’s what twentytwo years can do to your conversations. Or to your relationship if you take it a step further. Twentytwo years and two different nationalities.

Sometimes I lose track of how many times I’ve said ‘No, I don’t know.’ in one night. Sometimes I want to scream ‘Think, before you ask. Think about how (un)likely it is that I know this particular song/person/film/TV show.’ Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me who hasn’t watched all those classics and hasn’t got a clue about music. Sometimes I forget about all those things I know and he doesn’t.

Loriot. Michael Mittermeier, Thomas Gottschalk, Silbermond, Nina Hagen, Stefan Raab, Löwenzahn.

But sometimes I love it. Watching the Clangers on youtube or Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang on a lazy sunday morning. Being told about something that happened when I was really small. Saying things like ‘I wonder what you did while I was born?’ and getting ‘I walked to my first job’ as an answer. Receiving answers for questions I haven’t even asked and insights into a world full of anecdotes and memories.

I love to be in a relationship with someone who is twice my age. Roughly. At the moment it’s actually a bit more. It’s hot. We don’t have to age-play. I can look up to him all the time. Admire his knowledge and experience. Be small. Looking at him with big blue eyes, sucking in every bit (of information) he gives me.

Until I put on my 14cm heels. Then I’m on the same level again. Speaking to him in German even though he doesn’t understand. Giggling about the two men in the bathtub, feeling somewhat equal again. Actually it’s the best of two worlds. At least until he asks ‘But you know Bono, don’t you?’ 

I do.