Sunday, March 13, 2011
Never try to high five a Brit
Being married to a British man is amusing.
There are certain things, quintessentially-American things, Ian just doesn't get and certainly won’t stoop to.
Baseball hats, for example. He sees them as the socially-acceptable security blanket for the American man. He's speaking, of course, of those types who essentially wear their hats from the minute they wake up, to the moment they get in bed. There are more than a few of those types in Vermont. I have yet to find any here in France.
So I'm not sure why I was surprised when, the other night, I tried to get him to high five me in the kitchen, after we had pulled off an amazingly-efficient, after- dinner -party cleanup--a stellar demonstration of the power of teamwork (another American concept)-- and he sheepishly put out his fist, rather than his whole hand.
The look on his face was one of awkward embarrassment, along with a dash of disapproval. Clearly, I had crossed the line.
I was acting, like an American.
Rather than call him on his rigid cultural restraint and possibly start an argument, I simply said,
“You married an American girl, you know. I just need to remind you of that, now and again, lest you forget.”
My next reminder might be to call a "family meeting" to discuss our "goals, issues and priorities."