Setting: A cozy kitchen in a small Moscow apartment. It’s snowing lightly outside. Sasha is pouring soup into bowls. Misha walks in, brushing snow off his jacket.
Misha: (shivering) Brrr! It’s freezing! What’s for lunch?
Sasha: Chicken soup. Sit. Warm your bones.
Misha: You’re a lifesaver, Sasha.
Sasha: [accidentally knocks over the salt shaker] Damn it!
Misha: (gasps) You spilled salt?
Sasha: Relax, it’s just salt.
Misha: No-no-no! You have to do something about it. But don’t throw it over your shoulder—that’s Western nonsense. In Russia, it brings even worse luck.
Sasha: Wait, so… spilling salt is bad luck, and fixing it the Western way is worse luck? That’s quite the trap.
Misha: Exactly! Here, you’re supposed to press your thumb to your forehead and apologize to the spirits of the house. Otherwise, there’ll be a fight.
Sasha: Spirits of the house? You mean Domovoi? I thought he retired in the 18th century.
Misha: [dead serious] Laugh all you want, but last time I spilled salt and did nothing, I had an argument with my boss and locked myself out of my apartment the same day.
Sasha: Or maybe your boss was just cranky and you forgot your keys?
Misha: Coincidence? I think not.
Sasha: Misha, come on. There’s no causal link between salt on the counter and life falling apart. If that were true, every fast food worker would live under a curse.
Misha: But salt is symbolic! It used to be precious. Wars were fought over salt. It represents value, stability. Spilling it is like saying you don’t value what you have.
Sasha: Okay, that’s poetic, I’ll give you that. But just because something’s symbolic doesn’t mean it has supernatural consequences.
Misha: Then why do so many people still believe in it? Even my babushka used to say, “Spilled salt means quarrel.”
Sasha: Because traditions stick. They give people a sense of control. It’s like a mental placebo. If you think apologizing to the Domovoi helps, it does—psychologically. But there’s no magical salt force waiting to ruin your day.
Misha: Hmph. And what if I told you the salt incident was followed by my date ghosting me?
Sasha: I’d say maybe she saw your obsession with kitchen superstitions.
Misha: [laughs] Touché.
Sasha: Look, I’m not saying traditions are bad. I love lighting a candle for New Year’s wishes. But I don’t think table salt has a personal vendetta.
Misha: So you’d spill salt and do nothing?
Sasha: Absolutely.
Misha: Prove it.
Sasha: [takes the shaker and dumps a bit more salt on the table] There.
Misha: You madman.
Sasha: If I get a flat tire tomorrow, I’ll apologize personally to your Domovoi.
Misha: And I’ll buy you a new shaker. You’ll need it for all that chaos seasoning your life now.
Sasha: Deal. Now eat your soup before it gets cursed.

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