There must come a time in every New York Brit’s life, when they realize that they’re English has gone, well, weird. For me, I fear that time may have come.
It started off innocently enough; elevator, that was my gateway word. But If I said lift, then I’d have got, “Whatcha gonna lift?” The next thing I knew I was calling the pavement a sidewalk and I didn’t even think about it.
Last week I said soccer to somebody when referring to my beloved sport. To say the least I felt uncomfortable and I visibly winced.
“That hurt a little didn’t it? ” said the person in question.
“A part of me just died inside,” was my reply, “I hope you appreciate what I just did there.”
The problem is, I’m in another country and I need to be understood. It isn’t my fault that this particular country speaks a weird…
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