Tourists

Holding Germany's hand, he skipped alongside her as they wove their way down a relatively quiet street in Munich. He smiled.

A young woman stood on the sidewalk, staring up at a store window and puzzling over the posters in it.

"Excuse me," she asked, "but if you had to choose, would you rather visit France or Italy?" He looked up at the sign, and sure enough it was a travel agency.

Before he could respond, Germany spoke. Her face had that gentle smile that most countries had when talking to one of their "children," as citizens were affectionately called. "Well, I've been to both countries, but I like Italy much more. There's so much culture, and history-like ancient Rome-" a misty look came in her eye as she remembered a vague memory of the empire she so respected "-and of course Italian food is good."

Italy smiled and blushed. Being complimented so generously-and to a complete stranger-was not one of Germany's usual conversational topics. But his brain dead stopped in its tracks as he hear her next words.

"And everyone knows Italians make the best lovers."

With a wink and a smile, she pulled his hand and continued down the street.

Still stammering, he managed to say, "T-that was nice of you to say, but-"

She grinned and pulled him into a kiss. "I wasn't lying."