Monday night Emily Spring came over for dinner. As she was head-tailing the green beans at the table and I was washing mushrooms in the sink, she said: "If you were Russian, what do you think you would be?" "I am Russian if you go back far enough." "No, I mean do you think you would be part of the intelligentsia or do you think you would work in a factory?" "Uh, probably both." Long pause. We resume our focus on the food. Then she pipes up: "I bet we'd both learn to love pickle soup, though."
