In this post, babushka = old lady, not head scarf

Hell hath no fury like an offended babushka.

This evening, on the way to calm down an offended babushka with chocolates and flowers, the host institute director (who had already scolded me for doing certain things that led to this babushka getting offended - if you want more details than that, you'll have to ask me one-on-one) and I got stuck in a Russian elevator together.

Sweet Jesus. Really, universe? I hate elevators. Especially Russian elevators, which are only half as big as American ones, and often smell funny (ok, actually this one didn't). And I couldn't even sit down in the stuck elevator, because this is Russia and the floor was dirty/cold and sitting on it would have convinced the host institute director that I am ACTUALLY 100% INSANE (and, after sitting on the floor, also infertile). Fortunately, we were only stuck for about 15 minutes. But still. I felt a little like an offended babushka myself.

But the universe soon made it up to me. The babushka (who did not become un-offended, unfortunately... but we're working on that) gave each of us a shot glass of cognac, mistook me for a Russian for half of our conversation, and exhibited okan'e, which is a super-awesome linguistic phenomenon that you hardly ever find anymore among contemporary Russians and which I, personally, had never actually encountered in real life. (Basically, she pronounced O in unstressed syllables as O, not as A.)

YAY. Kazan continues to be mostly awesome.