I was minding my own business taking a shower when all of a sudden somebody yanked the shower curtain back. It was the hotel maid. Rather than excuse herself, she stood there unashamedly leering at my naked body.

"Begone, woman!" I shouted, struggling to cover my private parts. "This is not the time to clean the room!"

"I came in to turn down your bed," she said, "but looking at your firm, athletic body I see that I cannot."

It took me a minute to decipher what she was saying. "Madame, if you are making some sort of crude pass at me, I assure you I am not interested."

She moved over closer. "Go ahead and touch me," she said without reservation. "Like the toilet seat, I am sanitized for your protection."

"Absolutely not!" I protested. "I am a happily married international banker! I must insist you leave these premises immediately!"

"An international banker?" she repeated. "I see. Well, Mr. Banker, pretend I am a third-world nation. I think you have something I need."

"No!" I snapped. "Third-world countries should grow their economies without the interfering hand of global finance!"

She looked me up and down. "Your lips say no," she snickered, "but your emerging market says yes yes yes."

I continued to protest while she stripped off all of her clothes. "Madame," I said, "even if I consented, there are certain steps one must take before undertaking an affair of this --"

"DAMN YOUR PROTECTIONIST PRINCIPLES!" she shouted. "Shut up and take me now!"

"No!" I barked. "Never!"

Then she appeared to almost crumple before my eyes. "You do not want me, and I know you are right," she said. "I have nothing to offer. Ever since the worldwide economic crisis my infrastructure has been sagging."

I think any human would have been overwhelmed with empathy here. Perhaps unwisely I got out of the shower and gave her a hug. "That's very nice," she continued, "but what I really need is for you to leverage your high-interest loan against my ever-increasing debt."

I would not be a gentleman if I revealed anything that happened further. While I did my best to feign excitement, I am convinced of her satisfaction. "That's what I want!" she screamed on one occasion. "Maintain that global economic stimulus to revive my stagnant economy!”

Eventually I put my clothes on, and she did the same. "Perhaps now we can discuss a mutually-beneficial trade agreement," she said.

"I'm flattered by your offer," I said, "but this was just a one-time bailout. I'm not convinced of your overall economic stability."

"A one-time bailout?" she shouted. "Do I look like the kind of woman who needs a BAILOUT? Ha! No, monsieur, we're full-fledged partners now. I opened all my borders to you."

I held my ground and she stormed out, and that's when the shit hit the fan. While she claims she was victimized, I think you'll find the opposite is true. This Mata Hari has been toiling for four years at minimum wage just waiting to latch onto some patsy, and sadly it appears I'm the guy she chose. She's a stalker, plain and simple, and to this day I live in fear of going into my kitchen and finding a rabbit stewing in a pot, though of course we call that dinner here.