British accents make everything better.
Nothing has convinced of this more than my recent blizzard induced viewings of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding on The Learning Channel <insert uproarious laughter at the fact they get away with that name>. Watching the former reminds me of Brad Pitt’s unintelligible yet endearing Irish Traveler character in Guy Ritchie’s Snatch. The latter reminds me of why inbreeding is generally frowned upon.
In ninth grade I considered going on a school trip to Europe. I went to a few of the orientation meetings and the only thing I remember was being told all of Europe is lousy with bands of baby-throwing Gypsy pickpockets. You see hoards of Gypsy women hurl a live baby at an unsuspecting American tourist ( I imagine those wearing sandals and black socks were particularly susceptible) while their cohorts pick the dude’s pockets or snatched his camcorder while the dumb tourist acts on instinct to catch the flying baby. We were told if we found ourselves in this situation to never catch the baby - there is always a backup Gypsy ready to step in if the target was hip to the game.
Even as a 14 year old I think I knew crossing an ocean in the care of those people wasn’t a bright move.
Sheesh, everyone knows gypsies are fortune tellers, not babythrowers.
Unless it’s an American gypsy whom I learned have a gene pool the depth of a puddle.