Who are we to tell the Brits anything?

The British, arguably our best friend in the entire world, pretty much haven’t told us what to do since 1812. Man, that’s some loyalty there. Who wouldn’t like a friend that doesn’t pass judgment on us, even when we do something so stupid as to elect Richard Nixon?

The Brits are friends that share their immense talents for the world to enjoy. They gave us The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Elton John and even the Spice Girls. Hey, they were cute.

They gave us top-flight action heroes with James Bond. They made us laugh with Monty Python and Benny Hill. They challenged our wits with Sherlock Holmes.

When we stunk at soccer, they let us have the best player in the world, David Beckham.

So who are we to tell them what to do with their politics?

Last night, I checked the web before drifting off to sleep and found out that our best friends were deciding if they should stay in the European Union. Ultimately, it was about economics in Europe. Self-governance, perhaps. 

It took me a while to go to sleep. Not because I was troubled over world affairs. It’s because I knew all these ultra-political hard-core types would hyperventilate all over social media tomorrow about what bumholes the Brits are for whatever choice they made. And that’s funny to me. I laughed my ass off until I had insomnia.

Because it’s not our call to make. It’s theirs.

They weren’t deciding on war, nor were they deciding an intense civil rights issue. They were deciding on their future.

Needless to say, the hyperliberal friends from the west coast had already flooded my Facebook feed by the time I woke up at 6 a.m. And I live in Florida, which means they stayed up all night to gripe at 3 a.m. their time. They might be mad because President Obama insisted the English stay in the EU and the Brits went against his wishes. Who knows?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure if the Brits decided to Brstay instead of Brexit, my hyperconservative friends would have done likewise.

Maybe I’m the only one who understands this: We don’t have the moral authority to tell our friends what to do. Enemies? OK, we’ll go to the UN and complain. But friends? Not so much.

It’s hilarious that many of us have become so engulfed by our politics that we have become the uptight, tut-tutting, priggish stereotype the Brits were always accused of being.

Try asking your barista if there’s some decaf available, people. You’re too high strung.