Secret Agent Man

On that infamous day, almost 6 years ago now, my brand-new husband of just 2 or 3 hours, lifted his can of soda, looked around, and stated, clearly and distinctly, "This drink is erotic!" The crickets didn't even chirp they were so embarrassed. They just quietly packed up their fiddles, and left the room, not making eye contact with anybody.
It took Jeremy a minute to figure out why everyone was simultaneously blushing and laughing hysterically, which caused his face to reach a color of red only seen on thermometers.

"Did you mean 'exotic'?" some helpful person piped up between spurts of giggles.

"Yes, yes, I meant 'exotic'..."

That should have been my first clue. The next would be his choice of favorite movie: "The Hunt For Red October", followed closely by "Ruskies." And I think watching "The Saint" twice in one year is highly suspect...

Jeremy is a Russian spy, and English isn't his first language.

He must be really good at his job because it has taken me almost six years to figure it out. But I've GOT HIM!

Some days he's got me fooled, but sometimes he gives it away. I think he married me because I was getting my English degree, and he could innocently ask me questions about pronunciation.

"Hey, Dara," he said one day. "the guy on the radio said we are going to have 12 inches of perspiration."
I blinked.

He gave me his innocent smile and continued sipping from his bowl of borscht.

"You mean, precipitation?"
"What did I say?"

"Perspiration."
"Whatever, you knew what I meant," he growled, gnawing on some mystery meat.

Squinting, I asked, "What is that??"
He looked mildly panicked, and then brushed it off.

"Kholodets," he said off-handedly.

"Kholodets," I replied flatly.

"Yeah."

"Okay..."

"Буря мглою небо кроет!"

"What?"
"Sorry, the kholodets were hot."

Needless to say, it has been a little stressful.

I never wanted to marry a policeman, and here I have a secret agent...