And now for something completely different...

...windows.

Dutch windows to be exact.
Yes, I said Dutch windows. You see, they are fundamentally different from windows here in Georgia. And this has nothing to do with the fact a Dutch living room has more square feet of window pane than we have in our entire house, or with the fact Dutch windows lack screens, which means that creepy crawlers are able to find their way into your bedroom and bathroom, or the fact that a Dutch window does not just slide open and shut, no it can be cracked, slanted, set ajar, and opened in about a thousand other ingenious ways.

Dutch windows are different because they actually really work. I'm not sure what Georgia builders think when they put in windows, but I'm guessing it's something like "Well, they keep most of the heat/ cold out, that should be good enough". Although our house isn't as bad as some of the older Georgia homes, where you can actually feel a breeze when you stand in front of a closed window, our windows, or so I learned last week, have nothing on the hermetically sealing window panes they use in the Netherlands.

I generally like our less-than-perfect windows open. Especially in our bedroom, and especially at night. Between our two dogs and husband-dear, who is, after all, a man and thus comes with certain, well, manly scents, I think we really need it too. Husband-dear does not always see my way (I think it's a genetic thing - the same gene that gets men riled up about farting contests) , but I think that over the years he's learned that this is one battle he won't win, so he's given in. So, unless it's scorching or freezing outside, our windows in the bedroom are open.

Now last week in Holland, it was cold. Really cold. It was so cold, it snowed, husband-dear almost borrowed some of my hose for under his jeans until he discovered he had brought his tight running pants, thus saving his masculinity, and I spent the whole week imitating either a Disney princess or a Muslim (opinions are still divided), by wrapping a pink scarf around my head. It was cold enough that I let husband-dear use me a heating pad and wrap himself all over me in bed, something that is usually a no-no, as most of the time, I am warm enough to heat a little village all on my own. But not last week. So opening the window was also just not an option. We figured it was just us, no dogs, and no carpet, so we should be fine.

Until we woke up in the morning, opened the curtains, and noticed that the entire window was covered in a thin layer of, well, wet. I think it's officially called condensation or fug, but the bottom line is that it's all the moisture you've breathed out over night, and so it's just really yucky wet stuff.
"I didn't know we were that gross." I said.
Husband-dear wondered why we never saw that at home, even if we slept with the windows open, and made a few choice remarks regarding sweat production (it's that same gene as the farting competitions, I'm telling you).
And then I came to the realization, "It's because these windows actually work."
"Oooh..yeah, like in Germany." Husband-dear agreed.

Yes, like in Germany, where our German landlords were so frightened of the possibility of those sweaty Americans leaving behind a mildewed house that they had posted a sign on the back of every door and the inside of every cabinet (OK, maybe it was every other cabinet), to please keep a window open at all times. We just about froze our butts off there in the winter, but left behind a beautifully ventilated home. I guess our forgiving Georgia windows had made us forget about that.

So, to make a long story short, we spent the rest of the week with the window on the "cracked" position, and an extra quilt on our bed. And loved waking up at home without any reminder of bodily functions on our windows. It's great to have malfunctioning windows.