Last weekend at a bar in the West Village, I managed to strike up a conversation with a gorgeous blonde from somewhere deep within the Soviet block. From the start, I knew I was punching above my weight class, as she was clearly blessed with better genetics than her suitor - everything would have to break my way if I were to ensnare such an exotic temptress. But despite my best efforts, the conversation fizzled as her limited mastery of English coupled with my less-than-stellar wooing technique sabatoged what could have been a promising romance. Sensing that I was on the verge of losing my Kremlinite beauty forever, I made a desparate attempt to salvage the chemistry.
Me: "You know, it's so funny that we met tonight. I just started reading War and Peace."
Her: "Oh really?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm really enjoying it so far."
Her (looking away): "Tolstoy is shit."
Sadly, I did not secure a second date.
