...that I got on a plane and flew to Oz to see Doc. I didn't tell him I was coming, I just camped out on the steps in front of a building at the University at a time when I knew he'd be coming out of class. (Apparently, my subconscious doesn't recognize the subtleties of a medical education.) He didn't see me when he came out, so I had to call out to him, and my American accent was embarrassing. He turned around, recognized me, and in an impressive display of nonchalance, said, "Oh, hello," like he'd been expecting me. As we walked around campus, it changed into a store that sold tacky trinkets and shoddily constructed home decor items to middle-aged women in flower-print housedresses. One said something about us being a "young couple" and how relationships that start so early never work out, and I didn't want her to hear my accent (or perhaps how, in chatting with Doc, I'd picked up a horrible pidgin Australian mishmash that was even worse than a straight-up American accent), so I didn't bother to correct her.
Now, can I get through the rest of the day without calling anyone "mate?" We shall see.