Happy St. Ketevan Day. Or not.

In case you haven't consulted your calendar of Georgian Orthodox holy days lately, you may be unaware (as I was) that today is the saint day for my counterpart, Keti. The original Ketevan (that's Saint Ketevan to you) was martyred in 1624--tortured to death with red-hot pokers. Among other indignities.

Naturally, we celebrated her at the office this afternoon with a seven-layer cake and champagne.

To be honest, I don't care how bizarre it is. When they bring out the cake, I ask no further questions.

Pictured are two of the office's three Ketis. The one in blue is my counterpart, who arranged the event as a PR stunt for her namesake saint. In the middle is the director of the whole CARE shebang, and at right is another Keti namesake (but only her church name--like I said, once there's cake, no more explaining is necessary).

As much as I love a big hunk of cake, I have to say the rest of the afternoon was a bit of a challenge after I ate approximately twelve pounds of sugar (and, about 15 minutes later, crashed like a racecar). And champagne always gives me a headache.