реально мутновато

Vodka. Borscht. Perestroika.

Ok, that's about all the English write-able Russian I know. The heading reads "Really Unclear." No, I do not know Russian, it's from Alta Vista's Babel fish website.

Now then.

In yesterday's blog, I said I should put my Soviet Boy Scout pin on my Soviet Efficiency Box. This is the pin I was talking about, and the reason for the the title today.

So, this is a little star with flames, and Lenin's profile, and some Russian writing underneath. And I could not get a good picture of this, I tried different light, flash, no flash, backgrounds, Pbbbt. So, that's the pin, at any rate.

Oh. You want to know why I have a Russian pin? Well, Husband and I love to visit boats. We were at the coast, and Husband took up talking with some gent, and he offered for us to see his boat. Sure, we're game. We walk to this SHIP, this puppy was like a tanker or something, and he just, oh come aboard, but do you speak Russian? Durh, noooo...

So we walk around the ship, and I see some different pins on a board, and try to say I like them to another gent standing nearby.

Oh. Right. Russian. Urk.

So, I smile, and he sort of looks angry, then points and says, NOT FOR SALE. Uh. Where's that OTHER dude that speaks English? Busy talking to Husband... Great. So, I just say thank you, hoping that got across, and wander over to him and the gent.

About then one of the lovely birds of note at the coast, your friend and mine, the seagull, looses his bowels right in front of me. BLOP!

I was just happy he didn't blop ON me. But then Mr. Not for sale, muttering something that I have a strong opinion might be Russian swearing, drops a rag and bucket by the blop.

Don't know why, but I said, can I help, and proceeded to wipe the mess. Wasn't a big mess, so about a swipe or 3 and it was done. Rinsed my hands, then realized there was another of the little pins next to the bucket. (I suspect he had one in his pocket and it dropped out.) I picked it up, and handed it to him. Then Husband called that we were needing to leave, and so we started back to the dock.

I was just stepping onto the gangplank, when Mr. Not for Sale said, "YOU!" I stopped, and he had a really odd expression on his face. He literally marched up to me, then sort of made a salute, and handed me this pin. I smiled, and said thank you, and I would keep it happily. The guy who could speak English translated, and Mr. Not for sale had the tiniest of smiles as I walked off the ship.

So, I guess I am a Honorary Soviet Boy Scout, or something...