One thing about being married to a billionaire, you sure do spend a lot of time traveling from city to city, country to country, hotel to hotel.
I remember one trip in particular we took to Moscow. I wish I could tell you that I remember it fondly, or even fondling, but, sadly, I do not. If anyone tells you that the Cold War is over, tell them to eat shitski.
We were at an exclusive hotel, but what qualifies for an exclusive hotel in Moscow doesn't even qualify for a Motel 6 here in the United States. The bathroom was so small I couldn't even brush my teeth sideways. A Moscow hotel is the kind of place where hotel security will bang on your door in the middle of the night and demand to know if you have a girl in your room. If you don't, they'll ask if you want one.
I remember the desk clerk wanting to know if I had a good memory for faces.
"Yes," I told him. "Why do you ask?"
"Because, madam comrade," the desk clerk explained, "there's no mirror in the bathroom."
Later, just before bedtime, I ordered a hot chocolate. Do you know what room service brought me? A Hershey bar and a match. When Christian complained he had a leak in his sink, they told him, "Go ahead."
Christian was there on business, and my but he was paranoid the whole time we were there. He went from room to room, carefully looking and peeking and searching and checking to make sure that there weren't any KGB listening devices or cameras hidden anywhere.
"Honey," I told him, "there's no longer a KGB. They were disbanded after Ronald Reagan single-handedly orchestrated the fall of the Soviet Union in the 80's."
"Ana," he answered me sweetly, "eat shitski."
Sure enough, as the bible says, "Seek, and ye shall find," so Christian sought and Christian found a suspicious metal plate secured to the floor, hidden underneath the rug.
"See, Ana?" he exclaimed, proudly pointing at it. "See? Just because I'm paranoid, that doesn't mean I'm not being spied on."
So Christian removed the restraining screws and triumphantly threw the suspicious object out of our hotel room window.
A few minutes later, we heard three ambulances screech to a stop at the entrance of our hotel, their sirens wailing loudly in the night and not letting us relax. Annoyed, Christian angrily called the reception desk downstairs to find out what the disruption was.
"It's horrible, Mr. Grey," the desk clerk shouted through the phone, excitedly. "The chandelier in the suite below yours just fell on some poor family!"