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10 November, 2008

Lost in Translation

We set out for a nighttime stroll along the lake. The breeze, uncharacteristically warm for November, ruffled through the trees. "I wish we could go out on a boat tonight", I said, glancing at the empty boat docks. "I wish someone would buy us a drink", she said, glancing at all the couples walking past.

Strolling past the massive ship housing the yacht club, we reach the bench at the edge of the dock. Looking out accross the lake, with the city behind us, we talk about everything and nothing. What we want from life, what we will someday name our kids, who we will marry, where we will live.

Hours later, a cooler breeze wraps itself around the dock. Shivering, we call it a night and start the walk back towards the city.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the stillness. "Girls, hey girls!". We look up and see a man looking down at us from the deck of the yacht club. "Girls, why don't you come on up for a drink?". Not the types to turn down adventure (or a free drink), we look at each other, shrug, and head towards the ship entrance.

We maneuver our way up to the deck, feeling like we are in a more modern and smaller budgeted re-make of the titanic, complete with a grand entrance hall and winding staircases. We are met by the gentleman (Harry) and quickly realise that he is most definately old enough to be our grandfather. We politely decline his repeated offer for free drinks (the thought of accepting alcohol from a man who has several grandchildren left us feeling queezy) but accept his invitation to tour the boat.

Harry asks us where we are originally from and is overly delighted when the answer is Russia. With a wistful look in his eyes and speech not slightly slurred by alcohol, he says "I met a Russian girl, Ludmila, on the internet once". Ten minutes later, we are acquainted with all the dramatic details of the online union and its sad conclusion (Ludmila is now dating a German man). Fifteen minutes after that, when he has asked us the same questions at least three times and begins to ramble about Ludmila again, we decide that alcohol is the only thing that will get us through another five minutes and take Harry up on his offer to buy us a drink.

An hour and two Stellas later, we walk off the ship. "Well, at least we went on a ship", I say. We walk in silence for a minute, then she says "Perhaps I should have clarified. I would like a young, handsome man to buy us a drink".

Universe, take note.

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