Porsche. Photo: Flickr (cc) Jaritapower

„Nikki!“ Janet called up the stairs. “I’d like to speak to you in my office.”

I had been living in Germany for a few weeks now, in an enormous house in the Frankfurt Nordend.  Au pairing had been going well so far, but “I’d like to see you in my office” sounds dubious no matter the language.  I walked down the stairs, wracking my brain for what I could have done wrong, paranoia filling my stomach.

In the office sat Mr. Jens, the children’s father, and Janet sat behind her desk.  I looked frantically from face to face.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Mr. Jens said.  “I just figured it’s about time to go driving.”