Story of the Week: Piss-poor Tubicle and the Princess of Misfortune

In characteristic neglect of my feminine duty, I had forgotten (“память девичья,” that poor faculty of retention, as my host mother likes to tease) to wash the Miras Moldova office when my turn turned up. I was a week late.

My partners had reassured me, suggesting that I invite our new French volunteer to assist. Now wouldn’t it be much easier this way!

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3 Lei per Kilo

This past Sunday, I rose early for autumn’s first chill dawn. I dressed and waited for my partner Anna’s call – she was hitchhiking in from her village. She rang from the cemetery. Though we had planned to meet at my place, her ride had dropped her early and unceremoniously. The walk to my director Olga’s house would be faster if Anna didn’t have to meet me.

I sighed, and trudged alone the 20 minutes to Olga’s home, where I joined the ladies and Olga’s parents for breakfast. We waited longer than we had planned for two neighbors, but we needed them – it’s wine season in Moldova!

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