Just a typical photo session in my household in Ukraine:
I’m not really sure why I’m in curlers. I’m not even going out. We do have live crayfish at the house, and the cat broke a crystal honeypot trying to escape from them. So maybe the curlers are there for the sense of solemn occasion. Or maybe to commemorate the fact that I ZOMG have new hair again! Back to blond, it would seem. They understand blond here, in Ukraine. In fact, they start screaming and flapping their arms at you if you try to go darker.
Right now, there is drama because my brother refused to consume the sandwiches pictured. I’m not really sure how to defuse the situation, to be honest. Walking around looking ridiculous doesn’t seem to be helping.
I feel bad for the live crayfish because they are, apparently, fated to become cooked crayfish once the resident crayfish expert, Uncle Vasya, is due to arrive. I console myself with thinking that once I am dead, many creatures will feast on my body. My brother, to go by this picture, looks perfectly capable, for example.
And we succeed for a second. Well, aside from the curlers.
Uncle Vasya almost here. Getting rid of curlers and trying to function as family unit in 3…2…1…
… Aw, what the hell. Here are the crayfish with a suspiciously Ukrainian-themed plastic bag:
Isn’t this like a great little mini-horror film going on in our kitchen sink?