It’s a good thing I wore pants.
Who knew there’d be a children’s Birthday party with TV cameras, Belly Dancers and a live band?
So I met Ms. Baku’s parents. And sister and brother-in-law and nephew. I’ve never been invited to meet a Russian girl’s Russian family before. And she has never invited a boy to meet her Russian family. Combine that fear with the confusion of local Muslim traditions and I didn’t know whether I needed to bring a dozen camels or a bottle of vodka.
Things didn’t start off so well. On the way to the restaurant, the family taxi, as driven by their friendly taxi-driving neighbour, hit a pedestrian. Which is funny if you think about it. Be that as it may, this pedestrian was drunk. Think of all the horrific consequences on his liver. Man. His poor liver.
Anyway, so I thought it best to bring a dozen goats instead because they’re more useful than camels. Especially because they have a neighbour that has a taxi. But then I got all confused about the customs and what I should do and was I confusing this with Hinduism? I dunno. Also, I didn’t have any goats or camels.
It’s a good thing I didn’t bring any vodka either ‘cause there was plenty of that shit going around the table. And they toast a lot which I thought was pretty cool. They toast to some very sweet and genuine things. Most of which I can’t remember secondary to all the vodka.
And the food. My God, the food. Delicious.
And the dancing. My God, the dancing. Too much after drinking all that vodka and eating all that food.
And the music. My God, the music. Azeri, Arabic, Russian. All very loud and festive to mix with the food and vodka and dancing.
Bring back the Belly Dancer. Thank Baby Jesus for all the vodka, for otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the potatoes to get up in front of her family and the restaurant and do whatever it is they said I did. Like I had a choice.
So. How’d it go? You ask.
I fear they’ve begun to plan for some things my friends and family never thought they would witness me involved in.
Yeah. A coup of sorts.
Call it what you want.
Who knew there’d be a children’s Birthday party with TV cameras, Belly Dancers and a live band?
So I met Ms. Baku’s parents. And sister and brother-in-law and nephew. I’ve never been invited to meet a Russian girl’s Russian family before. And she has never invited a boy to meet her Russian family. Combine that fear with the confusion of local Muslim traditions and I didn’t know whether I needed to bring a dozen camels or a bottle of vodka.
Things didn’t start off so well. On the way to the restaurant, the family taxi, as driven by their friendly taxi-driving neighbour, hit a pedestrian. Which is funny if you think about it. Be that as it may, this pedestrian was drunk. Think of all the horrific consequences on his liver. Man. His poor liver.
Anyway, so I thought it best to bring a dozen goats instead because they’re more useful than camels. Especially because they have a neighbour that has a taxi. But then I got all confused about the customs and what I should do and was I confusing this with Hinduism? I dunno. Also, I didn’t have any goats or camels.
It’s a good thing I didn’t bring any vodka either ‘cause there was plenty of that shit going around the table. And they toast a lot which I thought was pretty cool. They toast to some very sweet and genuine things. Most of which I can’t remember secondary to all the vodka.
And the food. My God, the food. Delicious.
And the dancing. My God, the dancing. Too much after drinking all that vodka and eating all that food.
And the music. My God, the music. Azeri, Arabic, Russian. All very loud and festive to mix with the food and vodka and dancing.
Bring back the Belly Dancer. Thank Baby Jesus for all the vodka, for otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the potatoes to get up in front of her family and the restaurant and do whatever it is they said I did. Like I had a choice.
So. How’d it go? You ask.
I fear they’ve begun to plan for some things my friends and family never thought they would witness me involved in.
Yeah. A coup of sorts.
Call it what you want.
