A New Russian's son approaches a gorgeous lady in a lobby of five-star Metropol hotel.
- Mind a stroll? - he volunteers.
- Well, I bet your car ain't a Volvo, - she replies.
- Nope, it is not, - he confides.
- And you do not own even an average size bank, - she continues.
- Nope, - he admits again.
- And you don't have a three-storey house in Old Arbat, - she concludes. He agrees again. - Then get lost, miser!
The lady leaves, and the chap stands in distressed puzzlement.
- I can trade my Saab 900 for a Volvo, - he muses to himself, - and I can split my financial trust into a chain of average-size banks, but I obviously can't talk my father into demolishing the top three floors of our Old Arbat residence...