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I trace most of my dysfunctional traits directly back to early traumas incurred while trying to master watercolor painting (or, as you Brits would have it, in a reckless squandering of precious alphabetical resources, "watercolour painting".) I could never convince my therapists of this incredibly obvious trail of tears, but therapists are the last people you'd want to rely on in that department. I once had a therapist shout at me on the phone that I was crazy. Reminded of me of "What About Bob?", except I was acting perfectly normal at the time. He Richard-Dreyfussed on me without the slightest provocation, I swear. Speaking of Britons and their curious ways, one time when I was in London (okay, the only time), I saw a family feeding ducks or whatnot in Hyde Park, and a toddler was pointing at the pond and saying "Woe-tah!" instead of "waudder", which is of course the correct way. And I thought, how quaint and charming, they're teaching him to speak with an English accent! A friend of mine once told me that anecdote was Americanocentric, but he said it as if it were some kind of criticism. I was like "Huh?" Maybe he was a therapist.