You know that song, "Do you know, the muffin man? The muffin man... The muffin man..."?
Well, for some reason whenever I pass this babushka, I think of this version: "Do you know, the mushroom gran? The mushroom gran... The mushroom gran?"
She's often at the corner with her long garlands of dried wild mushrooms. I bet they're delicious, but knowing how long they've been held outside in the polluted air makes them considerably less appealing...
It also doesn't help that she can't stand me.
I've been trying to sneak a picture of her for months after she once caught me trying to take her picture. SHE. WAS. AN-GRY!
But today... Gotcha! And she didn't even realize it. The black in the upper corners of my pictures? My sleeve... as I cradled my camera in my hand and blindly pressed click as it rested by my side.
Somehow she just wouldn't have understand my pleading, "It's for my blog!"
This last picture is yet another example of Moscow contrasts... The pretty young Russian with money, carrying a Louis Vuitton purse, wearing expensive heals and a fur, chatting on her mobile v. the poor stooped over babushka, dressed in many layers of woolens and Russian boiled wool boots, trying to sell mushrooms from her dacha to supplement her meager pension...