So, it took me officially 13 months to find my German nemesis: a 5-year old girl and her cat Speedy.

This little girl’s mother runs the barn where I ride Dorian, the horse. They live in an apartment on the premises, connected to the barn. What this means for me: she is always there. She never goes away. Ever.

Ultimately, I know these stories are really only amusing to myself. However, some day in the far away future, I know I am going to look back on this German experience and say, “And then there was that little girl at the barn. Man, she was annoying. I can’t remember what she used to do, but trust me, she was a piece of work.” Well, now I don’t have to worry about forgetting!

There have just been too many interesting/questionable encounters with my nemesis for me to pass up the opportunity to solidify her, forever, in electronic history. For ease of reading, I have translated all of our conversations into English. There is only one key phrase that you  need to know: What is your name again? (Wie heiβt du noch mal?)

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Pretty early on, my nemesis approached me and initiated conversation:

NEMESIS: What’s your name?

ME: Trysta

NEMESIS: What’s your name again? (Wie heiβt du noch mal?)

ME: Trysta. What’s your name?

NEMESIS: Florence. (Insert French accent here. Her mom must have known at birth that she was going to need a sweet, French name to soften the blow of her over-sized attitude.)

ME: Pretty.

NEMESIS: What’s your name again?

ME: Trysta.

NEMESIS: Why are you called that?

ME: My parents gave the name to me. Why are you called Florence?

NEMESIS: My parents gave the name to me.

ME: Super, we are agreed then.

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No joking, two days later I am at the barn again and here she comes, hauling Speedy the cat, who is doing everything in his power to escape the death clamp she has on his head.

NEMESIS: What’s your name again? (Wie heiβt du noch mal?)

ME: Hi Florence. I’m called Trysta.

NEMESIS: What’s your name again?

ME: I already told you many times. Trysta.

At this, she leaves me alone and I go about my business. After I am done riding, as I am walking down the driveway, I hear Speedy’s desperate meow. I glance out of the corner of my eye, treading ever so carefully over crunchy gravel, trying not to attract her attention. She is playing alone on her bike, forcing Speedy to drive. I manage to pass her without being seen, but before I can escape, she inquires loudly:

NEMESIS: What’s your name again? (Wie heiβt du noch mal?)

As I am walking, I turn to look at her. There is no way I am going to scream my name down the driveway. The people here already think I am half mute-half idiot. I’d rather not prove them completely right, at least on the idiot part. She really wants to know, though.

NEMESIS: Wie heiβt du noch mal?

NEMESIS:  (now she is yelling, instead of chasing me with Speedy and the bike, which I am thankful for) WIE HEIβT DU NOCH MAL?!

NEMESIS: WIE HEIβT DU NOCH MAL?!

I think to myself: Maybe if you said: Wie heiβen Sie noch mal? (the polite way a child should talk to an adult), I would turn around.

NEMESIS: WIE HEIβT DU NOCH MAL?!

I walk out of sight and climb into the peace and quiet of my vehicle. If she was any older than 5, I would have given her the finger.

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Now, it’s a Sunday morning. I am happy to be the first, and only person, at the barn. Mind you, it’s around 9:45am. As I am gathering my tack, I find Speedy in the tack room, where he shouldn’t be. I shoo him out and two minutes later the mom/barn manager is hanging out of her apartment window. She looks a wreck.

MOM: Did you ring?

ME: Ahhhhh…no. (Speedy must have walked on the “doorbell” button in the tack room. Great, here they go thinking I am an idiot again!)

I put down my things and turn to find my nemesis, suddenly, standing right there. She is wearing a long sweatshirt, no pants, and no shoes. Looking back at the manure-covered path she just walked to get to me, I wonder to myself if she is going to climb back into her bed with those bare feet.

NEMESIS: Come.

ME: (confused) Does your mom want to talk to me?

NEMESIS: What?

ME: Does your mom want to talk to me?

NEMESIS: (taking my hand) We have to find the key.

ME: What?

NEMESIS: We have to find the key. Come.

ME: (dropping her hand) No, I have to ride Dorian now.

She stands there for a minute as I walk away, and then runs off.  I don’t see her the rest of the day. Clearly, she hadn’t lost her key. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if her mom locked her out while she had the chance.

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This time, my nemesis has Speedy and a little friend with her. I am cleaning off Dorian and the three of them suddenly appear (Think: the butler in the movie “Mr. Deeds”. It happens this way every time.) at Dorian’s rear end.

NEMESIS: Can we put Speedy in Dorian’s tail?

ME: Noooo…I don’t think…

NEMESIS: (already sauntering off, with her girlfriend and cat, like they were 13-year olds at the mall who just saw someone “uncool”) Because Dorian is the spookiest horse.

Honestly, she could have also been asking me to put Dorian’s tail on Speedy. I’m not totally sure because I was hung up on the word “tail”. You see, in German, the word has several meanings: tail, and an inappropriate male body part that, in English, starts with C and shouldn’t be used by a 5 year old. Unfortunately, I encounter the inappropriate meaning more often than “tail”.

Regardless, she obviously already knew the justification behind my answer. Why did she even ask? She was testing me, I know it! Maybe I should have let her, just to see what was going to happen. Twit.

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I haven’t been back to the barn since the tail incident. We’ll see what clever schemes she has come up with for next time….