Coming to Terms With It: Mail Order Bride

(This is my clumsy interpretation of Tatyana)

Tatyana is talking.  She talks a lot.  She's speaking about Siberia and San Francisco and Kentucky.  She's sitting in the family room, on a white chair with wheels that's supposed to be in the dining room, speaking with her legs crossed.
I wouldn't say that she's pretty because she's too harsh to be pretty.  More attractive than anything.  Starch blonde hair, a high forehead, and paper thin lips.  A small nose too.  A pink leather jacket, sparkly ripped jeans, and metallic crocodile pumps.  

"I used to be ashamed that I was a mail-order bride."  But, now, I guess, she's come to terms with it. 

He was a doctor from a small town in Kentucky.  He went to Siberia and they met a couple times (standard practice) before they got married.  He was nice enough, but they couldn't communicate.
So, there she was, this Siberian mail order bride at 19 years old, married to this small-town doc from the outskirts of Kentucky, all alone in this foreign place, playing wife and cooking pot roast and baked potato because that's what mail order wives do.  And the marriage crumbled like day-old buttermilk biscuits.  Who wouldda thunk?
She relocated to San Fran and he re-married another mail order from some other Slavic country- and now she's here, sitting on an out-of-place chair with wheels, speaking matter-of-factly about the whole ordeal.
And Kentucky- what a terrible place to be all alone.