Pitfalls of Being American in Britain

 

I didn’t take many photos yesterday (Tuesday June 25), so here, look at picturesque suburban London!

I do not understand how an entire country of citizens can tend toward the left.

No, I don’t mean politically.  I mean physically.  It’s mind-boggling.  A weird/stroller-pushing/brusquely-walking-briefcase-toting individual walks toward you on a narrow sidewalk? The solution is simple: move to the rig NO! NO! LEFT!  I’ve taken to walking blindly into intersections so as to avoid the embarrassment of looking the wrong direction.  (My second-best solution, so as to avoid death, is to look both directions about five times very quickly.)

And what about this whole accent deal?  Brits come to America and sound intelligent, cool, and, in the case of Benedict Cumberbatch -- love of my life and baddie in the recent Star Trek film -- simultaneously poised and dangerous.  AKA sexy.

I, on the other hand, open my mouth to whimper a “Yes, please” at the cash register and get shortchanged.  (This could also be because I keep forgetting that the dime coin is bigger than the 5p coin… but still, I deserve that coupon attached to the receipt you didn’t give me, Tesco cashier!  I buy a lot of sandwiches!)

And great, now I’ll have sandwich withdrawals when I get home.  Thanks Britain.  You’re the best.