We are a land, improbably vast, almost sprawling (defying today's culture of restraint, frugailty, recession) populated by people too polite to take the middle armrest on a plane ("No, I really couldn't. I'm happier as a canape.")
Secretly we see ourselves more mature, more refined than our lower neighbors. Holding up our monarchy, hiding behind the Queen's skirts like a shy child, as proof of our regal nature. Their cowboys hats, massive towers, erected to their own grandeur. Down the street of life they are the rowdy college boys, laughing like boozey bubbles; we trail behind, our polished shoes tapping on stone, hugo boss parfum lingering over the smell of cheap whiskey. Our nostrils twisted in derision until you observe the building we pass.
Is that really just an old school?
It's alright; just don't think about it.