We’ll see…

I have a friend who is from Russia. About a year and a half ago, he mentioned he was going to go home (to Russia) for two weeks. I – speaking out of my ass as usual – told him I’d go. A week later he said he called his mom and told I was coming. He told me to get a passport and grow some hair. Apparently, the only people that shave their head in Russia are the skinheads and it was wise not to be associated with them.

About 6 months later we went. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

First and foremost, the Russian women are stunning. Each and every one I saw was beautiful. Maybe it was the novelty of being in Russia, maybe it was the language they spoke, maybe it was a combination of both. But the fact remains, they were beautiful.

I have a thousand stories I could tell about my trip across the ocean, but tonight I’m going to tell only one. Maybe more we’ll come later (more likely than not), but tonight’s tale is one that we laugh more about than the others.

The day after we arrived, my buddy called a friend of his, Natasha, and made plans to meet up for dinner and drinks. Being the kick ass friend that my buddy is, he told Natasha to bring a friend, as he was not alone. She said she would.

And she did.

When Natasha arrived, she brought Sonya. Sonya and I hit it off pretty well. At least I think we did. She didn’t speak English and I do not speak Russian, so obviously there was a bit of a language barrier. Regardless, at the end of the night, we were holding hands. However, I must credit my friend for this. As we were stumbling home (sometime after 3 – the bars don’t seem to close), he told me she wanted me to take her hand. I didn’t buy it, but he told me it was okay, she wanted me to, it was tradition. Who am I to argue. When in Rome, do as they do, no? I reached it, found her hand and we walked the ladies back to their apartments.

This went on for two days – and nights. We’d go out to a bar or a friends, get drunk and walk the ladies home. However, I did not have to be told after the first time to hold Sonya’s hand. I didn’t want to offend anyone by breaking tradition, after all.

On the third night, I went in. Went in for the kiss. Yep. I hadn’t had one conversation with this girl, but I threw caution to the wind. What the hell. The kiss was returned, albeit briefly. As she pulled away, she put a finger on my lips and said, “We’ll see.” Right on! We’ll see. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Maybe she knew a little English after all, but was just shy.

So I walked up to where my buddy was giving his lady a goodnight’s kiss, waited in the shadows for them to finish (if it’s one thing I’m not, it’s a cockblock) and my friend and I continued back to his mother’s.

The conversation we had…

“Why is your smile so big?” He asked.

“No reason.” I laughed.

“Whatever. Don’t give me that shit. What happened?”

“She said, ‘We’ll see.'”

He stopped and smiled. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

I told him I went in, I told him she seemed cool with it, I told him she put her finger on my lips and said “We’ll see.”

My friend started laughing. Hard. Doubled over laughing. I stood there smiling like an idiot. I was waiting for the shoe to drop.

“It doesn’t mean what you think it means,” he said, still laughing. If it were brighter, I would have seen how red his face must have been. “She was speaking Russian.”

Oh shit. Now I felt like a fool and I didn’t even know what she said yet. “Well,” I asked, “what does it mean?”

“When she said ‘we’ll see,’ she told you to shave. Dumbass. She doesn’t like the mustache.” He said.

I started laughing. What else could I do. It then dawned on me I had not noticed many Russian men with facial hair. Not even van dykes (like me).

“ohhhhh. She wasn’t touching my lips, she was touching my moustache.” I said, laughing. What are you going to do?

“Yep. She’s probably not used to it. It probably tickled her.” He explained.

So the next morning I did what every red-blooded American male would have done.

I shaved.

And it was worth it.

When in Rome….

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