When Your Russian Wife Gets to America
Sunday, September 11th, 2005You bring her home. When you pull into the driveway, you proudly open up the car door and invite her in to your house. You say to her, “Here you are, honey. Your new home.”
She cautiously walks in the house. She inhales shortly a couple of times. She wrinkles up her nose. The house has got a funny smell to her.
You don t notice anything. But to her, it s full of strange smells she can t identify: It s a combination of leftover fast food wrappers, old pizza boxes, dust, beer cans, and remnants from the chip and dip that you and your friends consumed while watching a football game.
You threw all those things away, but the odors are still there.
It doesn t smell like her house at home. It doesn t smell like a house with a woman living in it. It smells like testosterone.
Your Furniture:
She looks at the furniture. Maybe it s new. If so, it s probably something a guy would pick out, like heavy leather or dark colors. Certainly nothing she would pick out.
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