DISCLAIMER: This post is going to begin with a whinge and a moan but then I will transition back to the rainbows, sunflowers and lollipops Sara Louise that you know so well.
There I was was, cleaned up, dressed up, and finally about to sit at the table and enjoy the Thanksgiving dinner I had been cooking for two days (OMFG… cooking Thanksgiving is no joke, it’s like the Mount Everest of meals, you need a Sherpa with you while you cook it… luckily, Mrs. London was my Sherpa and she was the best little Sherpa ever).
I’m not going to lie, I was tired, but I was happy and filled with love because here I was in France, lucky enough to be celebrating the holiday with family and a couple of scraglers (Thanksgiving just isn’t Thanksgiving unless you have a scragler or two), even if I was the only American at the table.
And then the thing that all American expats have to deal with at some point in our expat lives happened, I found myself face to face with the dreaded ‘America Sucks Guy’. (I’m going to call him Rudy McRuderude. And FYI… Rudy McRuderude is English ).
We had just started eating and since the Wales vs. New Zealand rugby match was ending, I asked Mr. London if we could watch the NFL highlights from Thursday that he had so nicely DVRd for me. And that’s when Rudy McRuderude piped up, “American football is bastardized rugby. Americans take everything and bastardize it“.
But he was only getting warmed up. Here’s some of the splatterings of the verbal diarrhea that spewed forth from his mouth and landed on the Thanksgiving table;
Why do people think it’s OK to get all up in our grill about America? It’s rude. I would never, ever do that to someone, especially someone that I had met only a few minutes before. Plus IT WAS THANKSGIVING, the most American of American holidays.
But other than my encounter with Rudy McRuderude (who all American expats and Americans who travel will meet at some time, in one form or another), my weekend was perfect… we watched movies, bummed around on the couch, chatted and laughed at Fifty and Napoleon chasing each other and running into sliding glass doors, and Mrs. London and I had lots of bonding time in the kitchen.
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