I miss her, folks, whatever her name was.
And since I've had to get used to doing everything myself, I've gained a new-found respect for all the things that the little lady did for me.
For one, there is suddenly a problem with the layout of the apartment. Beer goes in the frigerator, yet I recline on the sofa. I tried moving the sofa next to the frigerator, but then I couldn't see the TV. So then I moved the TV and got settled again when I realized - I had forgotten the remote! Well, it was always the Russian lady that brought me the remote! Yes, it's about done made me cry not having her around.
Also, I always thought that the cuts on her wrists and hands were pathetic cries for attention, but I realize now - that's just what happens when you don't have a can opener and refuse to get one and have to open cans with a giant meat cleaver.
Well, Russian lady, I plunked down two bits for a can opener at a garage sale just this past weekend. If you ever learn English and happen to read this, please come back!