It's nasty and cold and rainy today, and strangely enough I have lost all desire to sit in Russian class and discuss current events. The plight of Russian women, forced to uphold the economy while their drunk spouses punch them and hold the actual positions of power (or that's at least the gist I got from the article) is truly compelling and fascinating. Today, however, there's just a little something inside of me that wants to curl up in bed with my boy and watch a trashy movie. Or perhaps teleport to a warm sunny place and lie in the sun. Uniformed waiters with umbrella-ed drinks would be a lovely touch as well. As would a big fat sack of money and a row of ideal boutiques, staffed with snooty salesladies that become so overwhelmed by the wonder of me that their evil demeanour actually cracks, and they... smile. Yes. That would be perfect. A couple of puppies and kittens thrown into the mix, and a stack of big fat books for when I tire of any exertion would be a nice extra touch.

Speaking of bitchy salesladies... there's this one Russian thing that I really cannot do, which is calling waitresses/salesladies/any young-ish female you wish to address "Devushka", or rather "Girl." To my occasionally overly PC mindset, this smacks of subjugation, slavery and just plain rudeness. When old women address me as this on the metro, I give them my best haughty look, for one whole second before sinking into a pile of petrified jelly in the face of their Evil Russian Old Lady Glare. However, last night, a waitress was so bitchy that Jon actually got to hear me call her "Girl!" with gusto. Dyed white-blonde hair, evil slitty blue eyes, and an attitude big enough to mask the fact that she was wearing a uniform based on traditional Georgian (the country, not the state) dress, ugly square-toed shoes and shiny sheer hose. "Girl!" had to bring me an ashtray. And more water. And wasn't the food ready yet? And the bread? Yes, being bitchy to a bitchy waitress is a tiny, pathetic little thing, but I'm generally so apologetically polite to everyone in subordinate positions that actually acting back was a BIG STEP.

To which Jon commented, with a grin, "You know, part of the problem of teaching you to be assertive is you actually acting assertive, and forgetting your training as a good Italian woman. Cooking. And not talking back."

Yes, he was punched.