how Russian girls turn into babushkas

This weekend was very busy. A lot of things happened, some of which I will recount soon. But one of the more interesting things that occurred was my realization—aha! This is where little Russian girls begin to turn into their grandmothers.

I had just returned home from a very busy Saturday-Sunday. I wasn’t exactly home yet… I wanted to call my parents. First I tried a bookstore. No luck. So many people were using the wifi, the call was dropping every few minutes. So I walked over to my secret internet spot. I say it’s a secret because it probably ought to be, because it’s kind of embarrassing and not entirely legal, not because it’s actually secret. As a matter of fact, this secret spot means standing outside of the back of a row of cafes (all of which have wifi) and making calls from there. This way I don’t have to buy anything, there aren’t tables of people just sitting and listening to me talk, and the annoying music inevitably playing doesn’t bother me… as would be the case if I, you know, went inside any of these cafes.

As I was standing there talking to my parents, Nastya and Lina walked by, going home from the grocery store. Nastya turned and smiled and waved. I waved back.

On arriving to the apartment, Nastya intercepted me. She proceeded to lecture me on how that was really not a good place to stand and talk on the phone. People walking by could see me, it was too near the street, it was too far away from home… etc. I don’t particularly agree with any of her concerns (it’s part of the same courtyard our apartment is in; there’s the cafes on one side and a kindergarten on the other, so I don’t think it’s a sketchy area at all), and I pushed back a little. But she kept on. She was very certain that my decision was wrong. Kind of like her grandmother had been last Wednesday, when she realized I went to the ballet without tights and wanted me to promise to wear tights all the time.

Later that evening, Nastya was recounting a story about getting ice cream with her friend. The story went kind of like: “I got this kind of ice cream, with hot caramel sauce. It was awesome. Polya got that other kind of ice cream, and it was good too, but she had only cold toppings. That’s why she got sick the next week and I didn’t, because I had the hot caramel sauce, and her ice cream was just cold.” It’s basically babushka, telling me I need to microwave my fruit juice so it’s not too cold.

Conclusion: Russian girls don’t become babushkas. They are born babushkas. If they ever pass a period of life in which they seem normal and willing to let other people make stupid decisions like talking on the phone outside or eating ice cream without something hot on top, it’s probably because they are trying to hide their true nature. They become babushkas for a second and final the moment they give that pursuit up.