My husband is prudent, brilliant, and fair-minded. He is also hilarious in a dry, sly way. A native of Moscow, Russia, Egor came to New Mexico on a student exchange from Moscow State University. We met at a Fourth of July celebration hosted by my folks. At the end of a riotous evening punctuated by an aerial rocket slamming into my mother’s ankle, I sent the handsome intellectual home with copies of Lord of the Flies and The Painted Bird. Poor fellow!
Since I ignored my father’s admonitions against fraternizing with “The Russians,” I began writing letters to the dashing Egor. I even arranged our first date when my parents were out of town. Over-planned by me, our date was a fiasco. I lamented to my best friend for the next three days, only to squeal in ecstasy when he called to arrange a second date. It has been smooth sailing ever since.
E loves tennis with a passion. Victories or losses of favorite players dictate his moods. Because he is an avid reader, Russian books fill half our home. To build our media library, his erudite mother exports captivating movies and literary works, of which I am an ardent fan.
E also plays the harmonica and guitar. A quality accordion is his next purchase since the inexpensive one I bought for his birthday is too small for his hands. Except for our shared love for Baroque, our musical tastes are incongruous. Acoustic rock and lyrical artists are his favorites, while I prefer old school goth and industrial.
Our memorable experiences are too vast to describe. Perhaps, I will reminisce in the future.