Pickup line

Standing on the Sobu line platform yesterday afternoon, I was approached by a middle-aged (but not all that much older than me) salaryman sporting a punch-perm and wearing a dark grey suit, a blue polyester tie, a pale blue shirt and some sort of office ID on a neckstrap. Pretty bog-standard salaryman. We had the following conversation in Japanese.
Him: Do you understand Japanese?
Me: Yes, a little bit.
Him: (not hearing me) Huh?
Me: A little.
Him: Are you French?
Me: No.
Him: Are you American?
Me: Yes.
Him: (glancing at my hands). Ah, you are married.
Me: Yes, I am.
Him: Is your husband Japanese?
Me: No, he’s American.
Him: Would you like to come to a hotel with me?
Me: I don’t understand your Japanese. I’m sorry.
What this man thought I was likely to answer is beyond me. I thought about punching him, but he apologised and walked away before I could let my violent American tendencies reach the surface.