As the American spouse, you find yourself in the kitchen screaming, “Dammit, why can’t we use metric measurements in recipes like normal people?!?!?”
You, as the British spouse, don’t look awkward wearing a baseball cap the traditional way because you know how to position it on your head and mould the brim properly.
Your children’s friends won’t understand them because they whip out terms like “lost the plot,” “scarper,” and “have a butcher’s.”
You are all too familiar with the standoff in the morning over who is too pathetic to put the kettle on to make the first cups of tea.
You, the American spouse, have learned to accept that your beloved finds The Weather Channel fine entertainment and will want to talk to you about the programming, thinking that constitutes real communication. Old habits die hard.
My apologies to the British spouse, but you end up softening your accent to make yourself understood around these parts, even to the point where you have to pronounce some words OUR WAY. Your British family will hear banjos when you speak.
Your children will go to school with superior lunch box treats like Penguin bars and sit with smug satisfaction while savoring their delights, since food sharing is not allowed in American schools anymore. The lucky friends who come over to your house to play get their snacks from the Stash.
Your British relatives call and still ask, “What time is it over there?” even though you have been in the States for 15 years.
To the British spouse, the odds are, your love is going to be irrational about food. Either you are going to get someone who will eat only 5 meals, and you will be in a culinary rut the rest of your life. Or, because of the incredible amount of choice we have over here, you will end up with a pain in the ass like me who loves all sorts of foods but has these elaborate rules that refresh every 15 minutes. There are going to be certain dishes that are sacrosanct and can never be altered, but there are other recipes that can be experimented with and “improved” for time eternal. There are certain kinds of foods that can be eaten multiple times during the week, but others that can only be eaten once per month. And certain restaurants are only good if you are wearing khaki pants, and your biorhythms are humming “Jerusalem.” Accept that you will never completely know the right answer. Just be happy when your spouse can make a decision. If you happen to be married to an American with a healthy relationship with food, congratulations. You discovered a unicorn.
You have multi-national get-togethers with your friends at your house during the World Cup matches, and they are more lively than Super Bowl parties.
On a more serious note, my fellow American, you will happily go toe-to-toe with anyone referring to the U.K. as a “third-rate power” or any of those yutzes with Irish ancestry who think the Real IRA should resume their bombing practices tout suite.
And, my dear Briton, Independence Day eventually won’t feel so much like a holiday that takes the piss out of you than an excuse to drink beer, watch fireworks, and appreciate the home you made here with those who love you the most.