I think some day I might start speaking with a British accent. Once I’ve started, of course, I can never stop. It would be silly to switch back. The sheer authority and gravitas of my new vocal inflections will convince my listeners that, despite my American upbringing, I had always spoken that way. In fact, they will be so enraptured by my words that they will conclude that there is no way a man should speak except exactly like me.

I’ve begun practicing. Watching hour upon hour of the BBC, learning the words, almost on a one-by-one basis. I repeat the lines, jealous that they are spoken so effortlessly. The telly presenters don’t realize the gift they’ve been given by their random-chance birth upon the British Isles.

If you’ve been reading this far, you might have slipped into some sort of accent yourselves. That was exactly my purpose. My inner typing voice has already switched over, much easier in my head than through my mouth. Someday I’ll do it, and maybe you will too.