Osan living is like living in a teeny, tiny town where everyone knows everyone and everything they're doing. And I do mean everything. You don't want to linger too long in the family planning aisle of the BX, for example, if you know what I mean. Or park your stroller in front of the mental health clinic. Or brandish your oh-so-discreetly-wrapped-in-brown-paper package at the post office. And you DEFINITELY don't want to make any jokes about throwing cans of beer at a dog. Even a mean dog. Just for the record, I was not actually planning to throw beer at a dog. Something less messy, like frozen chickens, would be much better.
Some things I have learned the hard way about the small base life:
If you are walking around with an unbuttoned shirt or a smear of chocolate on your face, or both, you WILL run into your husbands boss, or his wife, or both.
If you tell someone you are sick in the morning, by 3 p.m., at least 153 people will have asked you how you're feeling. Some of them you won't even know.
If enough people stop by unexpectedly while your house looks like the thrift store exploded, eventually you will stop caring. I wanted to put up a picture to prove that I am not exaggerating, even a tiny bit, but Lloyd put the kibosh on that idea, so you'll just have to use your imagination. He embarrasses so easily; sometimes I almost feel sorry for him that he has to live with me. But that is another post (or two, or three.....) for another day.
The things we leave behind.
23 hours ago