There’s a small deli where I get my lunch every day and the woman who runs it is Russian. Sometimes we have conversations in Russian in front of the other customers, which makes me mildly uncomfortable because I don’t want them to think that I’m talking about them.
Recently, I became concerned that she is dying of cancer and I was thinking of the best way to let her know that I’m thinking of her without spelling everything out. I thought that she had a terminal diagnosis because every time I’d ask about her well being with a friendly “kak dela?” she’d say “don’t ask” and look very morose.
So this week, after my “kak dela” and her “don’t ask” I followed up with a “who knows what will happen” and she unburdened herself and told me that she doesn’t like the bra that she bought for her daughter’s wedding because it’s doing nothing for her dress. So, it’s a wedding and not cancer. Which is wonderful news.
This is why people dance at weddings.
One year ago ...
- Not Your Mother's Vagina - 2014