Before I spent a substantial amount of time in London, I always found British accents charming.   It sounded proper and formal, and when I heard someone with a British accent cursing, I found it obscenely comical, like overhearing your grandmother swear.

In 2006, I spent two weeks in London for work. Wandering around, revisiting places I’d only glanced during a short trip two years prior, taking in all the historical architecture that is so lost on New York City, the city that burned, and the city without a history, only new layers built atop demolished older ones.

Midway through the second week, the charm wore off.  I was tired of the accent.  But it didn’t stop an occasional stranger I spoke with from telling me home “cute” or “charming” they found my American accent.