Cultural Adaptation

Yesterday I needed to go to the post office to put a box of Christmas goodies in the mail to the good ol' US of A. I packed up the box, wrapped up the baby, wrapped up myself and trotted out in the cold on down to the village center to take care of business.

When I got there, the post office was closed. Because as we all should know, on Wednesdays everything in the village closes at noon. Everyone else knows this instinctively because all of the other residents have lived here forever, as have their parents and grandparents etc etc on back until probably the Roman occupation.

I was pretty heated. Major irritation. Mind you, not because I had to walk to the post office, or even walk in the cold, or walk in the cold with a baby...and not even because the post office was closed at a completely unreasonable time in the middle of the week.

I was mad because I would have to get in the car and drive three villages away down to the next post office.

Three! Whole! Villages!

Mind you, it would've been like a ten minute drive and less than 5 miles.

But it was still three villages and I was just NOT going to do that.

I guess I just might be getting used to this place after all.

But maybe not, because I still throw a minor fit every time I do the dishes by hand or hang up clothes on the line. I mean really, how are the clothes supposed to get dry a) when it's raining or b) when it's so cold that they'll freeze before they're dry? Hmmm????