My friends threw one helluva BBQ on the 4th for my English relatives when they arrived. After eating copious amounts of various dead animals, we all sat around outside on the patio and drank ourselves into relative oblivion. (It’s the American way, people.)
Suddenly, my cousin yelled “Look at that bug, Jemma! His arse lights up!” Turns out Great Britain is devoid of lightening bugs. After the awe wore off, we grabbed a jar for them and sent them in to the backyard to catch the blinking insects. They were a little hesitant at first until we pointed out they didn’t sting, bite or, uh, explode. It was a hoot to watch them participate in a pastime that most of us gave up as little kids. And, yes, lightening bugs are still as annoyed about being kept in captivity as I remember. Don’t worry, we let them go five minutes later.
The next day, I saw another look of shock on my cousin Mark’s face.
Imagine his surprise when I handed the keys to my car to him. “Mark, here’s the deal, I hate to drive. So I want you to help me drive part of the way to Des Moines,” I said. He was readily pumped and up to the challenge … until he actually got in the driver’s seat (which is on the “wrong side” according to my cousin). Not only had Mark never driven an automatic, he’d never discovered the joy of cruise control. (I swear England’s auto industry is stuck in 1955.)
He made me turn off the radio, so he could focus on driving. That lasted about two minutes until he got the hang of it. The only time I had to watch his driving skills was when he’d turn on main streets and in to on coming traffic. I can see how that whole “driving on the wrong side of the street” thing could be a little daunting.
My cousin Jemma, meanwhile, is a little more seasoned and cultured. She seemed unfazed and undaunted by anything. But, like any girl, she folded like a cheap card table when we walked in to the mall. It was like the mother ship had called her home. I set her loose in JCrew and she was never to be seen again. “I could have bought the entire store,” she said on her way out the door. By the end of our shopping extravaganza, she was carrying so many shopping bags she looked like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman”. Granted, it wasn’t Rodeo Drive, but Jordan Creek Mall in West Des Moines made for a good substitute.
Speaking of movies (or as my cousins call them “fil-ums”), my relatives are seemingly obsessed with any bit of American cinematic pop culture. We had to find “Moon Pies” because Mark saw a character wolf down one in “The Green Mile”. He wondered why a security guard wasn’t riding around on a Segue because of “Paul Blart: Mall Cop”. And he announced quite loudly that he was standing on the same soil as Clint Eastwood when we visited the actual bridges of Madison County, uh, in Madison County.
Don’t even get me started their penchant for “American” food. More on that in Part III.