Bixnmacha!

There's a cluster of signs on the corner of our street, advertising various - I hesitate to use this quaint English word, but - cottage industries. Amongst others we have Hanni's hairdressing salon, a holiday apartment (100 m left) and the ominous sounding Meatech. Just recently a new one appeared. A roughly sawn piece of wood with the word 'Bixnmacha' sprayed on in neon pink paint. I found it tawdry, to say the least. We don't want people lowering the tone of a respectable neighbourhood, do we? And to add insult to injury, there were three or four tin cans (used: sweetcorn, catfood, Red Bull) hanging from the sign on bits of dirty string. Turn into the street and there's a little house on the right hand side. I usually walk past it extremely fast as the woman who lives there is clearly Glaring Champion 2010 and is still trying to beat her personal best. On said house is another lurid sign, announcing the residence of 'The Bixnmacha'. More horrible tin cans. (Don't know what was in them, haven't dared take a close look.)

In our innocence and distinct lack of Bavarian cultural knowledge we assumed that this was some kind of scrap metal merchant advertising his new business. Although if I want old tin cans, I'll just look in my own bin, thanks. But on asking Frau NN, we discovered that a Bixnmacha is a man who fathers a girl. 'Bixen' are tin cans in Bavarian and this charming term is also a synonym for the fairer sex. Hence, 'Tin Can Maker'. Classy. Now I'm happy to compare myself with all manner of things; for example, I often play a game with the children where we decide who resembles which woodland animal the most, etc, etc. But I fail to see what I have in common with a tin can. Most likely there is some extremely distasteful yet apt explanation, but right now I really don't want us to ponder on it. Best not to without downing a couple of schnapps first.

Looking back it all seems so obvious - the large and unavoidable stork over the front door would seem to be an excellent clue. The glaring lady did have a huge tummy and now it's not so huge. Things like that. And it's funny, isn't it, that once you become aware of something, you start seeing it all over the place. Now I see Bixnmachas everywhere I go. I am on the lookout for the male equivalent, for surely 'tis an honour to father sons, who will grow up big and strapping and will shovel manure and race tractors in that way men seem to enjoy doing around here.