This story was told to me by a colleague. Her husband is a military doctor. Colleagues from Syria came to them. They all spoke Russian well enough, so there were no problems with communication. It was a warm friendly relationship. One Friday, one of her Syrian comrades approached her husband and said:

I bought tickets to the theatre. He wanted to go with his companion, but he had a lot of things to do and he refused. Do you not want to go with me?

You know, I would love to go, but I have it today.

He slapped his index finger on his throat.

The Syrian colleague compassionately shrugged his head:

Oooooh, the tanzilite very badly. Treat me Volodymyr.