It really was only a matter of time.
My own fascination with all things British began when I was very, very young. I have no idea how old I was when I was first treated to the wonder and glory that is Mary Poppins, but there it started. I became a fiend for the accent, the magic - because children in Alabama rarely disappear into chalk drawings at the park - and Julie Andrews. Oh, Julie Andrews.
Or, maybe it was when my mom allowed me to watch the nuptials of Charles and Di when I was four. You can't show a four-year-old girly-girl a big, fluffy princess dress and not expect her to form some sort of emotional attachment.
My third grade teacher, aka the most awesome teacher who ever lived and the woman who first inspired me to become one, fuelled my obsession when she chose Great Britain as our class's country in Christmas Around the World. She assigned me the role of parlour maid, and I had to wear a black skirt with an apron, a starched white shirt, and one of those nifty little hats that looks like a coffee filter with ruffles.
Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You've seen Downton Abbey.
I poured tea for everyone who came to visit our quaint little English Christmas village, served them biscuits, I mean cookies, and I was quite good at it.
Fast forward to whenever I was introduced to Jane Austen. I didn't love her, at first, but I needed (yes, NEEDED) to read more stuff set in Regency England. I also fancied a pelisse, but I still don't have one of those.
I have no idea when I fell in love with the Tudors and their sordid, fascinating history. But, love I do.
And then, there's Potter. I have no shame in admitting that I am on the back side of my thirties, inching ever closer to forty, and I am head-over-heels, punch drunk, stupid in love with all things Harry Potter.
So, given my affinity for all the uptight manners, lovely speech, and lack of orthodontia, it was only a matter of time.
Sweet Pea seems to be following in her mother's footsteps, at least in this regard.
Before she was three, she assigned the name, "Mr. Darcy" to any man wearing a cravat or a top hat.
The other day, she was all in a tizzy because she could easily locate her Harry and Hermione figurines, but Ron was nowhere to be found.
And, finally, she has begun to ask questions with a British accent.
"Um, Mummy? Could I have some bleeeewbries with my dinnah?"
"Would you like to go upstahs and play?"
I love it. I wonder how long it will last. I probably have Peppa Pig to thank for it, which is fine. It has to start somewhere, right? ;-)
I may be a Southern belle, but my loyalties are somewhat divided. I will always deeply love the Southern hospitality and good manners, fried green tomatoes, and boiled peanuts. But, there's a piece of my heart that lies somewhere between Derbyshire and Little Whinging.
Sweet Pea: The Southern, British-speaking, book-loving, ballerina/comedienne. Yep. In a nutshell.
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