Married in America: Imported Bridegroom
'14.04.2019'
Source: baikal-info.ru
Irkutsk journalist Marina Lykova, who married an American several years ago, continues to tell Friday readers curious things about life in the United States and about her marriage.
... It so happened that in Russia there are catastrophically few men for whom you can marry. Alcoholics. Losers. Mommy's sons. Gay men Adapters. Womanizer Nishchebrody. For whom to marry, if statistics against us, women? And if not already 23 and holding a child? And if the fifth dozen and not a multimillionaire? The answer is obvious: you need to put a cross on your personal life, writes Marina for the portal baikal-info.ru.
It is not surprising that the girls began to woo American girls immediately upon arrival at the Irkutsk airport. Svetok and Natalok are glorious saleswomen from nearby kiosks with ice cream, perfume with soap and cigarettes was a dime a dozen, but he is not like that. He needs a pair. Couple. Bird his flight. Its fields are berry. With which was to talk about. In English. This is needed, which you can trust all the most intimate. He and the house are ready for the future of his family to buy anywhere in the world. Wherever my future wife would like to live together.
Being before retirement, as it is customary to say, “high-level manager,” he already understands even Russian people without even knowing Russian. How? Just read the facial expressions of human faces, body language, sign language. And when, during a meeting with another bride, she touches her face with her hands, straightens her hair, or suddenly, for no reason at all, jumps up and begins to walk around the room without need, he probably already knows what is in her head. She herself does not know yet, and he knows. Without knowledge, I emphasize, the Russian language.
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And when, after the next meeting, where I’m for an American and a Russian woman, who had been “the berry again” for a long time, translated, I suddenly hear the doors that closed after him
“Do you know, Marinka, that for our brother, a Russian woman, the most attractive part of a man’s body is his wallet? I can promote any of ours for any amount and will always get what I want. But then in Russian. And how can I, for example, play off his gasoline to start money? ”
“I plan to take him to the river, to the banks. He himself said, remember that for him the first date should be romantic, far from the noisy crowd? Well, to concentrate on each other. So I think to take him away from the city, from the heat and stuffiness, and that only me and him. But tell me, what phrases for me to unleash it on gasoline for a start, so that the tank fills? In Russian, I can do it myself, but how is it in English? ” Hearing this, I am no longer surprised that, after returning after a long, supposedly going to the toilet, the American would not wish to continue to make acquaintance with the charmer on wheels, not even knowing what was said behind the doors that were closed behind him.
But this beautiful woman who had exchanged the fifth decade decided to approach the issue of meeting with a potential American husband seriously and invited him ... to a nightclub. And she herself danced on the stage in feathers and almost naked, and, according to her plan, it would be super-gut to approach him and introduce himself right after the performance, so that he could appreciate all her, so to speak, charms.
But for some reason the American did not go to the nightclub. First I was going, and then, a couple of hours before midnight, I suddenly refused, citing fatigue.
Americans - they are such super-modest, and our brave and accustomed to fighting for a man girls to their American virgins will give a head start in everything, and especially that “about sex”, a hundred points ahead. But the American puritans such a woman’s militancy only scares. With them, the Americans, it would be necessary just the opposite - to completely forget about all that circus that you got up a long time ago in your Russian bed. “Modesty is the best decoration,” remember?
This pretty woman with long black hair, beautiful diamond earrings and a luxurious figure tells him in Russian about her heavy share and constantly, like a puppy, looks into his eyes. She had a beautiful husband for twenty years older and had quit after fifteen years of marriage, and now she has a ten-year-old son in her arms and her own travel agency. Nothing was left of her husband but an apartment, and this despite the fact that he has a big business related to gold. She almost cries, and I think to myself: “This will cope.” Irkutsk is a big village, and I know for sure who presented this new Mercedes to it. More precisely, they know everything. And also, from mouth to mouth, they convey as a legend a story about how a previous admirer stuck a huge bow on a freshly red SUV.
A woman, seeing a car with a bow from the window of a nine-storey building, was not too lazy to go downstairs, tear off a bow, throw it out, drive it to the store, buy a new one, more suitable, in her mind, in color and already stick it. Everything was done with the words: "Here is an idiot! Even a normal bow could not choose! ”.
But that was a year ago. Now her former “love” loves her, but not. Mood swings, and with them the game “I love - I don't love,” his attending doctor explains to her. That's why I heard from her, the mistress of the travel business, who does not speak English and barely familiar with an American fiancé, the following: “Does he have any money at all? Maybe he is a loser? ” I can’t say anything about a loser, but I know one thing about money: 90 + percent of Americans cannot afford, just by buying a plane ticket, fly to Irkutsk. Because they can't afford it. You can save for many years, and so do not save. But for some reason I didn’t tell the “Russian bride” about this. And I did not translate in the smallest details of her ingenuous (?) Story that she had been trying to find a man for the second year and had met with a hundred, if not more. Everyone wants her and promises her the golden mountains, but she’s not like that, and for some reason it doesn’t go beyond offers of bed.
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And she's not like that! She is serious and she needs to get married. To once and to the grave, even if the husband is at least forty years older, because “love is of all ages.” In general, she does not give up: “Out of a thousand phone calls, I have already chosen a hundred people to meet, and this took me a year. Let me spend another year, but I'll get my way. I always get what I want, no matter what it costs me. That's just in the form of yourself you have to keep to fit ... ". And the ardent beauty gives the American retiree not just a smile - she is looking for any excuse to touch, embrace, while faithfully looking into her eyes and not forgetting to complain about the plight of the unhappy single mom.
Each of our women met by an American has his own story, full of disappointments, misfortunes, mistakes in finding a man for life.
This bride is well over forty. She is happy, educated, slim. She does not eat flour and sweet, travels the world in search of the meaning of life, and for ten years now she has been working as a big manager in a large oil producing company. Well, in a very big one. And her salary is as big. Like the apartment in the center. She still had a big car, but she sat behind the steering wheel one morning and went to work, she suddenly realized that she didn’t want more of this big and new expensive car in her life, and she turned to the side, got out and slammed the door. And I went on foot, just throwing the car. (I’ll say that she didn’t come back to the car, looking ahead.) But she dreamed, she dreams of returning to the great and bright love that she once suddenly abandoned to die on the sidelines of her own life. But that is a long-standing and almost forgotten story by the heroine herself.
The thing is that ordinary men are not interested in her, because she is smart and beautiful, and only terrible fat idiots surround her in life: “Man, Marina, should be smarter. Much smarter. Such that I respected him. And with a sense of humor unique to.
That's why she wanted to get to know my American, because there is nothing to lose, and the practice of language will not hurt anyone. They talked for a long time. She, sipping herbal tea with raspberry jam in a fashionable coffee shop (900 ribs for a teapot, a couple of tiny cups calculated), asked the candidate for a husband about his life. But somehow it happened that, tuned in to listen, she suddenly unexpectedly rushed to tell him about her own life. About how to remember what hunger is.
How, more than twenty years ago, with a three-year-old daughter in my arms, I didn’t know what to do with the only sausage left in the fridge: eat, dividing in half with a hungry daughter, now or leave for tomorrow? She told me that the university was reputed to be the most fashionable and “advanced”, but not because there were lots of clothes in the wardrobe, but just the opposite, because there was nothing to wear. Woolen leggings at any time of the year, and a grandfather's sweater stretched — that was all her outfit, which distinguished her favorably from others, because all the others were dressed up in dresses with ruffles and midi skirts. She told the attentively listening American how from leaky boots, when everything was already melting and it was difficult to bypass the puddles, she jumped into old sandals. Summer White. And so in sandals with blue bare feet and walked until late autumn, until the snow fell out. She remembered that this is why she loves to buy shoes, and now this shoe, which itself is of high quality and expensive, has a huge amount of it, because a single pair of boots went to her once for a long time as a gift of fate.
On a spring morning, when the puddles were still grabbed by a thick crust of ice, she, as usual, rode to the newspaper’s editorial office, where she did the practice, in those sandals (it was already hot in felt boots, because everything was swimming during the day). The editor, noticing how she hid her stiffened legs under a chair, silently went to the accounting department, took a wad of money and handed it to her. And a taxi called to go and immediately bought myself any favorite demi boots. “It was the first purchase in my life when I bought not something for which I had enough money, but something I really liked!” She tells him in English, smiling sadly and inwardly. She knows the price of money, the price of friendship, the price of herself. She knows that no, even the most intelligent-rational man will not be able to replace her with her. Because she used to rely on herself. Is always.
Another woman on her way with a blue passport in her pocket was a woman (a beautiful complexion, an almost complete absence of wrinkles in her fifty-something (!), Well-groomed pens, a slim figure and a perfect pedicure, expensive haircut and tasteful, comfortable clothes) rolled onto meeting in your car. She has her own business, well-established life, a beautiful house on the “field of miracles” and ... hopeless loneliness. She said that she “raised” two of her husbands. She picked up, laundered, dressed, shod, raised, taught manners, educated and bought cars, acquired “her own business”. And they fledged and threw her. In sequence. The third time the shell in the same funnel does not fall, they say. So she decided to rest from the production of creating her husbands and finally change something in her life. Not to pick up and not to bring up more, but to find already ready. Albeit from America ...
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This meeting took place spontaneously, no one was preparing for it, and therefore, after the woman asked her counterpart, I would like him to travel with her along the roads of Russia, America and other countries by car and about what his hobbies are and how many children he has why he is not married and what exactly he is looking for in a woman, I noticed a clear interest in his eyes. She asked, sincerely interested in the interlocutor, and he felt it, and it flattered him. But at the end of the curtain she suddenly blurted out: “Have you met other women?” He replied very honestly (as always) that he met.
And she, a fifty-year-old woman, as if a schoolgirl suddenly blushed and, without a second thought, jumped up as she was stung from a chair and a bullet jumped out of the room, slamming the door loudly. “I don’t want to be a commodity!” She shouted after the slamming door.
Somehow deeply after midnight, along with my ward, I accidentally ended up in the company of a woman named Eugene, who, wanting to continue her acquaintance with an interesting and attractively attractive gray-haired foreigner, without thinking twice, invited us to her home for tea. Wanting to make acquaintance, but without saying a word in English, Zhenya began to ask the overseas guest about ... politics. About Obama. About how Putin sees a simple average American. About the fact that it would be nice to knock over both and thereby improve the lives of people around the world. She spoke hotly about the crisis, about the price of silver and gold, and about how life in the US is at all.
Her story sounded much later, when they talked a lot about politics and when it began to dawn and with hot tea we went to a little cool compote with chocolate candies on the table, which was still hot with yesterday’s sun (the hostess put everything was rich).
She said that she was, like everyone, once married and that she has a daughter, who is already 25 and who lives here, but now sleeps with her grandmother, who has pressure. So, the daughter does not meet with any of the young people, because there is no one. And it is at twenty five! What can we then talk about the mother.
