AKA: The Crimean Killa, the Ukraine Heart Throb, the Boychick of the Balkans, the German Germinator, the Polish Prick. (That last one, that's what she said).
Uncle covered a lot of ground back in the day. He left, as they say, "a girl in every port". The appelations go on, and on. I don't think he ever picked his feet in Poughkeepsie, though. He was, for sure, a class act. And, a real contender. As you can see, drop dead handsome. Smelled like a million bucks. All in change. He was a little fond of the eau de cologne. Buckets full. Word is he wasted a fortune on fragrance. Metrosexual, I think would be the contemporary moniker.
When he entered the room, heads turned. (Nostrils would flare.) All the men wanted to be him. All the women wanted to be with him. On the latter front he was the Will Rogers of the Eastern provinces. You know that Will Rogers line, "I never met a man I didn't like". Uncle was fond of saying, "I didn't meet a lady I didn't . . . " Enough said. He had more than enough of The Kavorka to go around.
Rumor has it that he was the model for the Count Vronski in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. They, he and Leo that is, were drinking buddies. Alexie was his wing man on more than one occasion. Tolstoy could write, alright; with the ladies, however, he needed a interlocutor. And our Vronsky was a smooth talker. Things like, "I could spend an eternity looking into the depths of your beautiful eyes". That one was a sure fire winner. The lady at hand would swoon and fall limp into his arms. That's when he would haul her over to the waiting Tolstoy and whisper in her ear, "That's what he said." It worked more often than not. Especially after several rounds of wรณdka shots.
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