Not A Hot Prospect

Sometimes things work out for the best. And sometimes that is just what people tell you when something unfortunate happens. My sister recently planned to escape from her most recent life slump of living with her father and working as an unpaid intern. She would jet off to Kiev, a rarely visited eastern European city that boasts vodka vending machines and a post-communist ambiance of anxiety. Kiev is also densely populated with creepers, wankers, and the like, as it is a worldwide capital of sex trafficking. My sister would work for an NGO, acquire an uncannily high alcohol tolerance, and possibly learn Russian. To her, the plan sounded lovely.

But talk of Chernobyl, nuclear disaster, and radioactive mushrooms sent her spinning on a last-minute investigation of the health risks of living in an area with ambiguous levels of lingering radiation. Creepers aside, Kiev might just be too hot of a prospect. I told her to go laze about in the Côte d'Azure instead.