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I did have my choice of assignments, but the company was desperate for an ESL teacher in Jordan. It was not on my list of places I wanted to go, but the company was desperate and had been good to me.

My students in Amman, Jordan were all boys of grade school age. All the instructors were men. The company ran two schools. The girls' school was right across the street. The instructors there were all women. Some dressed liked western women, others dressed in everything from a hijab (head scarf) to being fully covered in all black.

The faculty for both schools came from just about everywhere in the world. I wasn't the only American.

I was certain, given Middle Eastern culture that I was in for a dry spell. My contract was for six months. It would be a long six months. I steeled myself for the real possibility of six months without pussy. I replayed my time with Frau Schmidt in my head all the time.

The company threw a cocktail party without alcohol for the faculty where I among a few other new employees were introduced. I shook hands with my new colleagues but well aware of the rules of the road made it a point not to touch any of the women wearing Arab dress. When I say that, I simply mean not even a hand shake when we were introduced.

I'd just finished talking with my supervisor when a woman fully covered in black came up to me, "Mr. Rosling I am Yasmin Al-Habib, I teach Business Administration. I trained at the London School of Economics."

"Please call me Sam. Mr. Rosling seems so formal."

"Yes, but you must understand we are a much more formal society than America. By the way, just because I wear what my religion requires, I don't bite," she laughed.

It was difficult to even guess her age, but there were a few wrinkles on her face when she laughed. I had no idea, but I'd guess somewhere between thirty and sixty. Yeah, that's how difficult it was to even estimate her age.

It was a nice way to make the proper introductions and I was anxious for classes to begin. Students are students the world over or so I'd discovered.

It turned out that there was little difference between the kids here and kids in any of the other places I'd taught.

At the end of the first week, there was a note in my mailbox. "Mr. Rosling, please join me for dinner tonight. I will have a car waiting outside your flat at 1700-Yasmin Al-Habib

Of course, I had nothing planned. I didn't know anyone and hadn't had time to research what may have been of interest in Amman.

Dinner sounded wonderful, but what to bring? Usually, I'd bring a nice bottle of wine. No, that would be insulting. Nothing like getting off on the wrong foot. I opted for chocolates and flowers.

Yasmin answered the door. Thankfully, the chocolates and flowers were not a faux pas. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'd been invited to a party. There must have been twenty people there. She introduced me to everyone: friends, neighbors, their children. I noticed there were no members of Yasmin's family present. I tried to remember all the names, but it proved impossible.

When the food came out, I was seated across from Yasmin and between two men who were friends of friends or something. Everyone spoke English, with a smattering of Arabic, which of course, I didn't understand.

The food was fabulous; almost none of which I'd ever had before. As guests departed, Yasmin whispered, "I'll drive you home after the last guest leaves."

I nodded. I was hoping that neither of us would be in trouble. That seemed like a blatant violation of decorum: and in my first week.

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