Since I married an American and travel to the States fairly often either for business or to see family and in-laws, people often ask me if I have any difficulty with U.S. Customs since I cross the border so often.
The truth is that I usually breeze through customs. Part of it is that my wife is American; the other part is that I know how to act so as not to arouse Homeland Security’s hair-trigger suspicions. Simply put, I know how to fit in.
The woodcutting below, while not a literal depiction, should give you a reasonably accurate idea of Wendy and me going through Customs at the airport:
“Do you think they’ll let us into prom, bear?”
“Sure they will. Rarr rar rar, lookit me, I live in a subdivision! Rar rarrr rarr rar I’m an Amerrrrrrican.”