And then, as though on cue from an unreleased John Hughes movie, a group of rowdy Russians (two guys and three girls) approached the hot tub, jabbering away in their native tongue. Their “leader” – who we would later come to know as Andrei – carried a large bottle of vodka. He had long, flowing Fabio-esque blonde hair (Fabiov?) and looked as though he could have been the Russian love child of Gerard Depadieu’s and Chris Farley. And to top it all off, he wore a Speedo designed as a Russian flag.
We watched with wonderment and amusement.
“My ex is from Ukraine,” I whispered to Adriana and Melody.
The Russians entered the tub – with the exception of Andrei – who leaped into the tub. They proceeded to pass the bottle of vodka around, each taking enormous swigs.
“Mind of I have some of that?” Melody asked, taking us by surprise.
“Of course,” Andrei said in a thick-accented, almost condescending tone, as though there were only one logical answer to this question.
Andrei passed the bottle to Melody, who took a moderate swig, before passing it on to me.
“Naw, I’m good.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Melody said, now clearly drunk.
“Vodka and I don’t mix. Especially when combined with red wine.”
“Drink it!” Adriana demanded forcefully, leaving me little choice.
I took the path of least resistance – a baby sip …or as Melody pointed out, a pussy sip.
“Take it like a man!,” Adriana commanded.
So I did, at which point I gagged like a child taking cough medicine. Half of my sip ended up in the hot tub.
“Give me that,” Adriana said, grabbing it out of my unworthy hand. I really wasn’t, which was fine by me. To me, dinking straight vodka is on par with drinking urine – only much more dangerous. I learned this lesson all too well in Ukraine. I wasn’t about to re-learn it here in Canada. I’ll stick to beer, eh?
Adriana passed the bottle back to Andrei.
“Thanks,” Adriana said.
“My pleasure,” Andrei said with a flirtatious wink, proceeding to take a long, masculine swig without so much of a blink of the eye. And then, suddenly, without warning, Andrei emerged from the hot tub, ran full speed, and barrel rolled into the snow. His bikinied comrades followed suit. I watched with stunned disbelief. From my experience, I knew Russians were tough … and thick-skinned. But I didn’t think their skin was immune from frostbite. Yet, here they were, frolicking half-naked in the snow. Andrei alternated kissing both girls. It was like watching a Swedish porn (“Swedish Snow Bunnies”).