homewrecker

Life isn't being particularly blog-worthy at this moment, so here's an entertaining story from a few weeks back that I forgot to post:

Scene: conference room in a Kraguyevac hotel, during a pauza (break for coffee and cigarettes)
Characters: me, and M, a Serbian woman in her late 40s that I don't know well

M: I really liked what you said earlier. I can identify with it.
me: oh, really? [or some other supportive, but not very engaged words]
M: Yes, and I think you'd be perfect for my son.
me: oh. . .
M: Yes. He's 24. He's handsome. He plays the guitar. He's kind.
me[furiously trying to think of a way to extricate myself from the impeding 'can I give him your phone number?']: yeah. . .
M: I think the two of you would really get along.
me [still thinking, not having come up with anything graceful to say.]: okay. . .
M: But he's married and has a very jealous wife.
me [knowing exactly what to say]: oh, well. That's too bad.

I've come to expect women to try to get me to date their sons, but that's the first time that I have ever been encouraged to break up a marriage.