From Russia with love?
6th November, 2007
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Last week I won the lottery three times and was offered an unbeatable deal on commercial quantities of Viagra as well as the chance to pick up a lazy million dollars in exchange for my bank account details. There was also the chance to buy patches which, when applied, would significantly increase the proportions of what is sometimes delicately referred to as one's "manhood".
The million dollars was offered to me by an African gentleman who worked for a bank and who had discovered an account operated by a person who had died. The deceased had no relatives and the suggestion was that the banker and I could share the lolly if I'd send him my details, he'd send me the cash and let me keep half for my trouble. Given that I'd never met this African gentleman, it seemed like an uncommonly generous offer but something just didn't seem quite right. Then the email from Vera flashed on to my screen. "I am 27 years old. I'm from Russia, city Cheboksary. I live together with my mum and I work as adviser on sale vacuum cleaners. I dream to have strong, happy family. It's my purpose in life. I want to be happy and to do happy with my family," she wrote. "What quaint, tortured English. She'd be perfect for Australian breakfast radio," I thought, pondering if Vera was about to try flogging me a Russian vacuum cleaner. It was a sad tale, however, which was about to unfold: "Six-seven months ago I got acquainted with a man from your country. His name is Peter. It was so fast and I thought: That's my man. Three days later he left for his home and told me that I should arrive to him. I write the application for reception visa and wait for six months. "My director has given me holiday from work and I have gone to Moscow to receive visa. I said this good news to Peter but he has told me he does not want our meeting. He played with me. He has told me he has wife with three children. I have been broken," Vera wrote. "Peter, you rotten swine," I muttered, dabbing a tear from my eye. "How could you do the wrong thing by this poor Russian lass and drag the standing of Australian males into the dirt?" Maybe it had been a heady combination of vodka, cabbage soup and underarm hair that had caused Peter to act in such a cavalier fashion. "Ah well, Vera," I thought. "You're only human and Aussie blokes are known to be irresistibly attractive to the opposite sex, so back to Mum and the home appliances and no more dalliances with bronzed studs from the land Down Under." Vera, however, had not given up on her Aussie dream. "I don't want that all was gone for nothing and will be glad if my visa will be useful to our meeting. I could arrive already in 7-8 days." "Good grief!" I thought. "The woman is about to arrive on my doorstep." How would I explain to my wife the sudden appearance of a 27-year-old Russian vacuum cleaner saleswoman with a predilection for shagging Aussie blokes? There was more from Vera: "I hope it will not sound silly if I will ask you about our meeting and a good time together. I don't know your ideas about my letter but it would be fine if we could meet and have some weeks or months together. I would like to have happy and strong family. I don't know about you anything but I want it very much." Good time together? Strong family? Want it very much? Vera's grasp on the language might have been a little shaky but there was no mistaking her intentions. I didn't even know the woman. God knows how she got my email address. I've sent her back a stern email pointing out there will be no good times and no strong families and warned my apartment block manager that if he sees a woman wandering around with a vacuum cleaner in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other, he is to call me at once. |
