On becoming British.
There’s something important you should know. I’m turning British.
It was bound to happen eventually, you know. A girl can only go so many months listening to her British fiancé whisper sweet nothings like “I scheduled the immunizations I need for the visa” in her ear before starting to pick up the accent. Of course, Paul won’t admit that I’m turning British, probably because he’s a little jealous of how quickly I’ve picked up the accent of his motherland. Whenever I drop a few British phrases into our conversation with the slightest hint of an English accent, he likes to reply with “Lovely Irish imitation you’re doing!” or “I didn’t know you had become Australian.” Oh, he is so green with envy.
My first step in becoming British occurred when some friends told me about an episode of House Hunters International where the husband was British and the wife was from the southern United States. I haven’t been able to actually find this episode online but, apparently, the woman’s southern US accent had slowly gained a British lilt while her husband’s accent had remained stalwart. This inspired hope in me that I too could mix the best of both worlds together while keeping Paul from picking up any, ahem, southerness.
Before you think me ungrateful for my heritage, let me explain something: Paul does an imitation of my accent that is horrid. I love southern accents — I LOVE THEM — but there is something terribly wrong about a British man trying to imitate a southern woman’s speech. It’s awful. I’m already trying to devise a plan to isolate Paul from southerners once he moves here to make sure he doesn’t start picking up the accent. So far, my entire plan consists of keeping him out of Wal-Mart since we all know that’s the best place to pick up venereal diseases southern accents, but I’ll continue developing the plan in the remaining months before his arrival.
My second step in becoming British occurred when I discovered the show Downton Abbey. I think it’s pretty common knowledge that I’m not a big television viewer, mainly since the last ten years of my life have consisted of going to college, running a ministry, working part-time jobs to get through school, getting a master’s degree, taking care of the fabulous five, working a full-time job, starting a photography company and fostering. As you can imagine, it left very little time for crashing in front of the tv.
But now, with no kidlets running around my house, a fiancé who is 5,000 miles away and very few friends left living in my town, I have come to see the tv — Netflix, in particular — as my new best friend. I started watching Downton Abbey on Netflix after hearing several friends talk about it and I’m now completely addicted, which may have something to do with the fact that the show features a British man and his American wife. I think I’ve seen the first season three times over now and I’m up-to-date with season two that is being broadcast on PBS right now. I also may or may not occasionally do Google searches for terms like “behind the scenes info on Dowton Abbey” and “Why is Mr. Bates so wonderful?”
Of course, with Paul moving to America instead of me moving to the UK, I won’t get the pleasure of actually becoming legally British. But you better believe that, from the moment Paul puts his British feet on US soil, he’s going to have a girl on his arm saying things like “Oh, would you like a spot of tea?” approximately every 7.2 seconds while she adjusts the fascinator sitting on top of her head.
It’s the least I can do to help him keep from missing his homeland too much.




















































