Vodka is one of my favorite things: it goes with nearly anything, and the good stuff doesn’t cause me hangovers. Must be the Ukrainian blood.
After dinner at Anna Maria’s, Frenchie and I went to the Russia House for a drink. She chose the vodka, being a Russophile, and I chose to drink it. Whilst sipping on our selections, we amused ourselves by watching a large table of very, very drunken yuppies make fools of themselves, and commenting on the scene in French, which they clearly did not understand.
Shortly after one skinny loud woman stormed away from the group and out the door, the man she’d been sitting next to announced that he would never let the man across from him set him up on a blind date ever again. The abashed matchmaker then got up to leave as well, and as he stumbled away, his party watched him through the windows offering a play-by-play of his movements to all in the bar. He had about as much trouble with the stairs as they did with English.
Following this, the remaining half of the failed date announced, in what may be a Quote of The Week, that
Love, for me, fluctuates with the real estate market.”
I would guess that he (a) works on commission and (b) finds most of his dates through online services more expensive and less dignified than match.com.