Fellow Australians, assemble.
The prospect of travelling always seems to get me beyond giddy. But then that glee seems to twist and distort, tying a doozy of a knot in my stomach and before you know it, I’m rocking back on the floor as if I’ve suffered from a severe panic attack after an encounter with a Lovecraftian spider-moth beast.
Or something like that.
Whether it be generalised anxiety or a legitimate fear, I dread the potential occurrences that come with stepping into another English speaking country. Like the States, for example. Because I’m pretty damn worried at the moment that when they hear my bloody accent, I’ll either be laughed at or ridiculed, followed by a bombardment of stupid questions as if I’ve just come out of some backwards third world country that originally began as a colony on the planet Mars.
A shame, really. There’s a lot of sights to see in the States. And a rather special lady I’d like to meet as well.
Better start working on my American accent.