I’m married to an alien. Literally. It’s clear that if we ever move to England, I’m doomed. I won’t have a single friend and the preponderance of my time will be spent nervously avoiding the blank stares I’ll receive in response to my jokes. My husband absolutely loves the show “[1] Top Gear. He cries with laughter. Yet, “Little Miss Sunshine” which left me clutching my sides, often in the fetal position, in between a couple of insurance trips to safely empty my bladder, left him staring wild-eyed at me.