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Home Sweet

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-25-2002

I live in a tourist town. If you are dutch, you have probably come here at some point in your life, have eaten pancakes and walked around admiring our little burg. As summer draws to an end, so does the peak season here. The plague of locusts which lands here each year buying up all of the newspapers and milk, leaving mountains of wrappers from the frites store on the streets will be gone . And I will once again live in one of the most beautiful, peaceful towns in the Netherlands. It’s like being in a village sized ‘Cheers’, where everybody knows your name.

Until then, though, I have to deal with the tourists. No, I’m not going to rant and rave about them now- it’s Sunday, I’m too lazy to do that. I did manage to water the geraniums this morning without anyone asking me for directions. But I am always amazed that tourists seem to forget that people actually live here, that behind all of these oh-so-charming facades there are people living, families eating dinner, watching football.

I was just sitting here a few moments ago, looking for a pretty link to our town to send to someone. My computer is on my desk in the living room, facing a window to the street. I looked up, and there was a man standing on our stoop, right in front of my window, not 3 feet away from me. His back was towards me, his face in profile. And he stood there for almost 2 minutes picking his nose. I mean, really digging around in it, up to his knuckle. I was simply riveted to my seat, little spy behind the curtain : will he or won’t he ?

He didn’t.

There really are people behind these curtains you admire, guys.

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