At Least We Don't Call it 'Barbie'

Last week a few friends and I gathered to celebrate the Fourth of July with a barbecue.

There were a few problems with that: first, it wasn't the fourth of July. We had to celebrate on the ninth of July because we were too busy the previous weekend, and the actual fourth was a Monday and everyone was working.

Second, there were only three Americans there. The rest of the party was made up of Germans, Australians, South Africans, Brazilians, an Irishman, and a few Brits.

Third, we were standing in the country we were celebrating independence from.

Needless to say, it was the least American celebration of American independence I have ever enjoyed. That doesn't mean it wasn't a good time. English weather threatened us with rain but for the most part we stayed dry. The grilling was fine and we had no fewer than three apple pies for dessert. In fact, we were even proud to call it 'dessert'. No 'pudding' here! Don't tread on me!

I suppose it could be worse. Another friend and I were at a grill-up a few days later and, upon looking at the menu, she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked, and she pointed at the sign.

"Polish sausage!" she giggled. This friend was, I should mention, actually from Poland.

"Oh, do you want some?"

"What the heck is Polish sausage?" she cackled. She was barely able to contain herself. Apparently, in Poland there is no such thing. It's just sausage. Who knew.

She ordered it anyway, and thoroughly enjoyed the English barbecue version of Polish sausage, just as I had enjoyed the American version of an English barbecue. Tomorrow, I plan to celebrate Bastille day with my French roommate by drinking sangria. We are all rubbish at playing to type.