Thursday, April 20, 2017

Redefining Tall, Dark, and Handsome

July 11, 2016—Chelyabinsk, Russia

The American government has the gall to call my Russian wife an “alien” (no, that is NOT her in the photo).  My wife’s only green is her American green card and her green American currency.  We Russians know real aliens.  This not-so-hard-bodied hunky stallion hitched his ride to Russia aboard the mighty meteor that streaked across the chilly Chely sky on February 15, 2013.  The local government locked his rocky rocket ship inside a museum downtown and refuses to return it, forcing this cute cosmic rustic to reconcile himself to a far-flung interstellar fate caused by this most shameless and politically motivated forceful requisitioning.  (He thinks the Russians want his starlike rock for geopolitical bargaining purposes, and I can’t convince him otherwise).  Though he gives the Russians credit—they definitely treated him more kindly than the Americans treated E.T., his seventh cousin a dozen times removed.

Though green with envy that family members flew back home without him, he shows no broccoli bitterness about this unexpected vicissitude.  On the contrary, his green Jell-O sweetness in the sour face of adversity should inspire all of us to see the glossy glass of green veggie smoothie half full.  Instead of hosing down his Russian hosts with acid wash from cosmic tear ducts (he could do it, too), he decided to settle here in the southern Urals and raise a family.  A fine, upstanding, responsible young man, he landed a job as a grocery bagger/greeter in this Russian shopping mall.  He keeps his antennae neatly parted down the middle, his eyeball eightballs properly polished, and I can attest from personal experience that his store-side manner is impeccably courteous, friendly, and pleasant.  If I owned a store, I’d hire him.  Wouldn’t you?  Honestly, he’s not a bad guy for a foreigner (which, incidentally, I suddenly realize some Russians might have been saying about me during my summer adventures among them).

Despite lacking eyelids, this toothless but toothsome green galactic guru goes by the name Blinky and has asked me to pass along the word that he is in the digital supermarket for long-lasting laser-hot love and is oh so available!


(Call 1-900-555-MILKYWAYMARRIAGESTOGOGOGO.  Intergalactic long-distance charges apply.  All proceeds benefit the AJ Fun Foundation.  Marital satisfaction is 110% guaranteed.)

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