So I was pretty preoccupied during my first dozen or three trips to the chain grocery store. Preoccupied making sure I had something I knew I could eat, while I bought my way through a variety of things that might be interesting, or that I might end up taking to my German lesson the next morning for explanation—much to the amusement of Fräulein Müller. But even so, it eventually got through to me that more often than not the same young man was the cashier at the express lane. The same attractive young man.
During my next shopping trip, it finally registered that “Dieter” was written on his name tag, that he looked to be in his early or mid-twenties, that his intelligent face was rather elfin looking, boarding on impish, with a deep cleft in his chin, and that his eyes were the most marvel
