My Big Fat Russian Wedding

I knew I was in trouble when he boarded the train talking on his cell phone. I boarded first and for some reason he sat next to me. He was a substantial Russian man speaking in his native tongue on a cell phone that looked like a child’s toy in his enormous bear-like paw. By the time I reached Katonah it became obvious he had no intention of getting off his phone. What was he saying? Was it as inane as most cell phone conversations? Perhaps it was a medical emergency in the Ukraine and he was giving life-saving surgical instructions from thousands of miles away. Perhaps he was having one last emotional conversation with a dying parent on the other side of the world. Perhaps his son just made the Olympic ice hockey team and they’re skating down memory lane. Or maybe, he’s just a great, big, sweaty, pirogi-eating, vodka-swilling, card-carrying asshole. Yes, it is now confirmed. They have them there too. I can only hope he’s looking over my shoulder reading my monitor right now as I type my missive.