After the dissolution of my most recent entanglement, I found myself talking to my mother, once again, about my romantic life.

"Well," I said, "I guess it's time to go back the flags of Europe project."
"Does that mean what I think it does?" she asked, the twinge of concern in her voice overshadowed only by her curiosity.
"Yep," I replied.
"Well," she said, sighing, "At least you are being witty about it."

..
Since then, I've found myself in the position to finally be to use the expression "So that's why they call it French kissing!"

My brother couldn't resist commenting on the situation when he called me the next day.
"Why didn't you answer my call last night?" he asked me accusingly.
"I was on a date," I replied.
"With another fucking foreigner, I hear," he said scornfully, confirming my suspicions about the familial grapevine.
"COME BACK TO AMERICA LINA," he shouted into the phone. "COME BACK TO AMERICA."