Around ~2008 I was in a Barcelona hostel and met a guy there. He started speaking and I interrupted him excitedly…“Oh you’re American!!”.
He looked down…the weight of pain curdled the air around us. You could sense deep sorrow welling beneath the surface of this man. He paused for what felt like an eternity to compose himself,
He looked up with a piercing, but harrowing, stare and said “No, I’m Canadian…”
I’ll never forget that moment. That sheer depth of emotion is something I haven’t experienced before or since.
Did I silently murder this poor Canadian soul? How do Canadians cope with the mistaken identity?
The only thing you got wrong here is in tickling a beaver … riding a moose into battle is less dangerous than tickling a beaver who can snap at you like a weasel and rip your finger off in the blink of an eye.
The UK had no beavers for hundreds of years, so it makes sense that its denizens wouldn’t know that beavers aren’t ticklish. 🫠