But little did you know, it has a greater and even more embarrassing significance.
My UK readers, commenters and lurkers alike--from England, Ireland, Scotland and not yet Wales (though I hold out hope)--God, I adore You. I have a crush on You. And I may even be in love with You. The gorgeous accents that have our Brooklyn staccato and even our Southern drawl beat all hollow, the way you say "fortnight" and "bloody hell," "duvet," and "herself" for "her" and "she"; and the way You measure Your chocolatey, custardy recipes in metrics that look for all the world like a favorable numerological prediction to me; the way You have kept on that mysterious "u" where our American laziness has truncated--"parlour," "favour," "flavour" and "colour" indeed! I can't even remember anymore whether I'm supposed to spell "gray" with an "a" or an "e," but I know which I like better--I like Your way!
So, Limerick London Belfast Dublin Glasgow Derby Liverpool Manchester Cardiff--the delicious names linger on the tongue--the regional differences like a mystery religion, and I've only yet been admitted to the church foyer...
I've been holding back, too shy to tell You the truth about my feelings; how could I ever measure up?
But now that I am officially champion at Guessing the Brits, I suppose the truth has come out anyway. Yes, this Brooklyn girl is Your biggest fan.
Edited: Now I've gone and kindled a nice little flame down in the comments. I suppose this is what happens when I try to objectify You. Why not just lie back and be objectified? It can feel very nice sometimes.
Edit part two: yes, I know the above edit is totally beside the point to the discussion below. But I think it's funny, and I'm funny, and I had to include it just to humor myself.