In America, there are flags everywhere.

This is weird if you’re coming from the UK, where flags only tend to be out for a big, hotly-contested football match, say England v. Wales.

In America, there are flags everywhere, all the time. There’s one in front of my old hometown school and another in front of the post office, the library and the bank. There’s one in front of the hardware store and there are flags hanging from each telephone pole, every fifty feet along Main Street.

There are flags on most houses and some houses have more than one flag. There are even some houses with flag-themed awnings over each window. Occasionally, a flag-festooned house might have a sign out front saying “Trump 2024” or “F*** Biden” or, poetically, “Commie Jo Has Got To Go”.

When we were over there, my English-born boyfriend Joel riffed awhile on it.

“Wait, what country are we in again?”

Pause for effect.

“Oh yeah. I remember now.”

Five minutes later:

“Can you remember where we are? I’ve forgotten. Oh no, wait, yup, that’s it. Phew. Lucky for the flags, otherwise it would be so easy to forget which country you’re in.”