With a little over a month left to my exile, I can honestly say that I have had enough of Belgium. I am done with its fickle weather. I am sick of their inefficient, lax service. I am tired of their dandy, uppity, Topsider-and-cardigan-knotted-around-the-neck-wearing men. I am bored with their overly-articulate, whiny, completely sterile complaints. I am not having anymore of their know-it-all colonialist attitudes.
I am going to miss the little things: the video store that knows us by name, the barber who cuts Hubby's hair just right, the butcher who undercharges me for the best pieces of meat, the newspaper stand guy who sets aside the first copy of Vogue for me every month, the school teacher that taught Edouard how to write his name and count to 20, and the cleaning lady who has a special way with Charlotte.
I am going to miss Belgium.
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