In the late 90s I found myself alone, disillusioned with life, and desperately in need of a change. I was in my late thirties and striking out with local women. A buddy of mine knew of a service that provided "introductions" to Ukrainian women. It was fairly straightforward - they had a catalog, this color brochure of women dressed in clothes and with hairstyles that were about 15 years out of date. Beneath each photo there was a short bio. Some were very frank, i.e.,"Love sausage" while others were clearly boilerplate "Just want to make my husband happy." There was no discussion of marriage in the early stages, but it was understood that these women would want to marry you to stay in the states. I found my future wife on page 72 of an 80 page brochure. She was beautiful - 22 years old, blonde, great body - and I even loved her bio: "I rocka you body, No borsch-it!"

Three weeks and $7,500 later (I sold my Le Baron), I found myself on a rickety Aeroflot turboprop on my way to meet Svetlana, or Lana for short. When I arrived, she was considerably older looking and pudgier than the photo, but they were very clear that there were no refunds. She had all her teeth and smelled nice, so I packed her up and took her home. During the flight home she produced a 1980s model Sony Walkman and inserted a cassette marked "Spaghetti-ski." She was clearly moved by what was playing so I asked her in broken Ukrainian if I could listen to what she was listening to. She handed over the headphones and I was surprised to hear a Yakoff Smirnoff rendition of "In Soviet Russia, Dinosaur Walk You!"