The one and possibly only major downfall of having become so chummy with South Africans is that in befriending them I have offered them a window into hearing and being able to make fun of my fluent “American.” “American” is just day-to-day New England speak (to me) and apparently isn’t proper English (to South Africans).
Literally anything and everything I say is subject to complete ridicule. I often feel like I am living in today’s “My Fair Lady” starring me as Eliza Doolittle (with plenty a Henry Higgins’ to go around, sheesh).
I am outnumbered here and thus can never seem to win but hear me out my fellow Americans (and please sympathize): South Africans pronounce buoy as “boy” (as in “look at that boy floating the water”), traffic lights are called robots and glove compartments are called cubbyholes. Now, are you really going to tell me that that’s normal? Also instead of gummy bears they have jelly babies. BABIES. Seriously. I am not joking. You can imagine my disbelief and shock. And they were actually tasty. Tasty babies. Sigh.