Being rational/Slavic, I often feel that my post-college life was going A+ swimmingly up until a very specific moment in time.
That's right: on November 4th, 2012, I accidentally and yet irrevocably ruptured the space time continuum.
My crime against fate? I found and purchased a pin that propagated one of the cruelest and most heinous lies I have ever seen in print.
It reads:
I remember the moment of discovering this pin distinctly: I was perusing a now-defunct outdoor flea market at a public school in Park Slope. I picked the button up from a large bin of similar 1970s-era buttons.
I guffawed, audibly - to the annoyance of the crazy old lady shelling the buttons to the public - but I also paid actual currency for the thing: Two whole dollars! When I actually should have thrown that thing in the dust!
Because, listen friends - if there is one truth in this world, it is that it is definitely not fun being Ukrainian, nor has it ever been fun being Ukrainian, nor will it ever be fun being Ukrainian.
....Wait, how does one even say fun in Ukrainian?
OH YES THERE IS NO WORD FOR THE CONCEPT OF NON-ENTERTAINMENT-OR-SPORTING-SPECIFIC MERRIMENT. (Note: there are also no equivalent Ukrainian words for the American-English concepts of: "exciting," "hope," or "cute." And yet there are at least 11 different ways to cover the concept of being sad, however.)
For the skeptics out there who perhaps find it very fun being very Ukrainian, I present the series of Ukrainian-related tragedies that emerged within mere hours of my horrific rupture of basic human truth. This is my testimony; this is my evidence.
More after the jump!
