After class ended this afternoon, Irina took us all out to a restaurant called "Taj Mahal", which serves everything from chicken curry to spaghetti bolognese. After we had ordered, and were in the midst of discussing our weekend plans, a rather drunk looking man, probably in his thirties, walked over to us from his seat across the restaurant, stood at our table, and fixed us all with an uncomfortably intense gaze. In a leather jacket paired with a t-shirt displaying a bright illustration from the animated movie, "Despicable Me", he invited us to drink with him. Irina took over the situation - as Patrick, Genevieve, Maureen and I could not entirely understand him - and declined his offer, but expressed her thanks. After a few more minutes spent attempting to guess the origins of our odd little group, he left the table convinced that Maureen was Russian and that I was the 17-year-old American daughter of Irina. How he came to these conclusions, we aren't entirely certain. About five minutes later, however, a waitress set a bottle of champagne on our table, gesturing across the restaurant to our new friend, who was watching us with, what could only be described as, a predatory gaze . Irina shook her head at him, but we accepted the bottle anyways. As we were finishing our meal, he returned and leaned forward with his hands on our table, asking if he could buy us dessert. Unfortunately, Irina was on the phone at this time, so he shifted his eyes to mine and I could stammer out nothing more than "no, thank you" over and over again. He smiled at me in silence for a moment, with eyes that Maureen accurately described as "laser beams", then asked me how old I was, to which I replied that I was 20, after a horribly awkward pause filled by me laughing nervously and trying to look anywhere but his face. Realizing that I was, in fact, of age, he asked me to come drink with him at his table. When I declined, he shifted his focus back to ice cream, snapping his fingers at our very kind, and exasperated, waiter to bring six scoops of ice cream to the table. As he waited to insure that his gift was safely delivered to us, the man proceeded to ask me to go to the movies with him tonight. Irina thankfully stepped in and said that, as my mother, she simply could not allow it. Not to be dissuaded, he asked if I would be free tomorrow, but both Irina and I managed to convey that I would not go out with him unless Irina, her husband, and two other children came along as well. I was really very uncomfortable at this point and much of the rest of lunch blurs together in my memory. However, I do remember the man enthusiastically acting out a game of beer pong, perhaps hoping to relate to me and my experience as an American college student. I also remember exchanging many glances with our waiter, who, at one point, began laughing at my bewilderment in the man's advances. (At this moment in my story, I would like it to be known that our waiter looked to be about my age, was very attractive, and I'm quite certain there is a 41% chance he could, potentially, be my Russian soul mate.) As we got up from the table, our drunk new pal asked for my number, which I declined to give, hastily shoving my phone into my bag as he attempted to make a grab for it. Upon prompting, I also asserted that I neither had Facebook nor VK, and we finally parted ways with Irina's insistence that, if he was fated to meet me again, then he would. All in all, it was an odd lunch, but we now have a bottle of champagne and that's certainly something to be grateful for.