Did it Occur to You, I Might Speak German?

Something was a dead give away. I have yet to pinpoint exactly what element it was. I mean, I know I don't look Italian. But I do have a great deal of Swedish and German blood running through my veins. Is it really that big of a stretch to think I could be European? Whether it was my attire, my attitude, or my appearance, they knew. On several occasions, I was approached and greeted in English. The telltale sign that I wore my nationality on my sleeve came, when at a museum, I was scolded not once, but twice, in my mother tongue. The first incident was the result of an innocent mishap, as I was unaware the flash would operate on my camera. Moments later, I committed my second offense by almost touching an intriguing table boasting a beautiful tile mosaic. Really, I try to be on my best behavior! I don't know what came over me, but something about that unique and historic table begged me to get a closer look utilizing my tactual senses. As if acting on it's own will, my hand lifted, then floated closer, index finger in position. Just at the moment I was expecting it to relay the surface's texture to my brain, I was startled from behind. Unexpectedly, a sharp, exacting tone exclaimed, “NO touching!” I instinctively ceased my intention and turned to see the source, which was a woman wearing authentic museum personnel garb. I had not uttered so much as one English syllable within earshot of this stern 'Guardian of Relics'. So how did she know? Perhaps, it's a simple case of defaulting orders in English. Maybe they teach the motto in Roman museum guard school, “when in doubt, use English to shout.” Or, maybe it's just me, oozing the unmistakable aura of an American.