If I could be eighteen again I’d be saving my pennies and
making the trip east in full expectation of finding a pirate’s sea chest o’er brimming
with glittering grails. I missed my chance when I really was eighteen because
the Cold War was at its height and western propaganda had convinced us all that Russian women were grotesque, not
to mention simianesque, creatures with a covering of body hair to put a yeti to
shame and oversized hands which dragged through the Russian mud when they
walked. Russia
and everything in it was always painted in greyscale back then, and its women
were granted no exemption.
And it was all lies, lies, lies. Damn those capitalist
politicians. My stats counters indicate that a few people from Russia read this blog. If that is the case, may I offer my personal apology for the dastardly way in which you were represented. Can we be friends now?
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