What's 'embarrassed' in Russian?

So, picture the scene...

The Potski Familiski were at Boy #1’s new school in Moscow. He had gone with Husband to be ‘assessed’ for an hour so they can decide which class he ‘fits’ into. This is a rather cautious move on our part, as we won't be here until at least October and will be going back to his UK school in the meantime, but me and Baden Powell, we like to Be Prepared...

Anyway, it was a long hour. I have to say, that when Husband failed to reappear during it, I assumed the worst; Boy #1 had expressed a strong opinion that he did not want to do this, and his strong opinions on matters like this are never good (see last September’s fun and games for examples). We had decided as a result that Husband – being less easy than I am to manipulate – should accompany Boy #1 to the classroom, as this should mean fewer fun and games from our oldest son. That of course left me to deal with the fun and games our youngest son decided to dish up...

Whilst we were waiting I needed to use the facilities. Boy #2, with his ever-increasing sense of self, decided that whilst he needed to use them too, he was not going to use the Ladies. He is a Boy. They use the MEN’s loos. Obviously, with my being a Lady, and NOT using the Men’s loos, this presented a problem. No way was I letting him loose in the Mens on his own with unsupervised access to unlimited loo-roll, but likewise no way was I sneaking in to use the Mens with him on our first visit to the school. What would the stalwart mums from the Parent Teacher Organisation stationed directly opposite the loo entrances think, for a start?

I informed him that – just this once - he would just have to use the Ladies. He refused – of course.

Left with a stand-off situation and picturing having to deal with a smelly wet-shorted son if we didn’t sort this out sharp-ish, I took the snap decision to re-brand one of the cubicles within the Ladies a Men’s loo. All went well; Boy #2 accepted the compromise and was just washing his hands when a teenage girl, all long blonde hair and spray-on jeans, walked in. She decided to use the very cubicle that I had temporarily redesignated the Mens...

(Please note that the following conversation was held at the top of Boy #2’s voice. Any louder and they would have heard him in London.)

Boy #2: “What’s. She. DOING?”

Me: “She’s going to the loo, Boy #2.”

Boy #2: “But she’s gone into the MEN’S toilet!” Me (thinking, best brush over this, we’ll be out of here in a moment): “Has she? Oh dear.”

Boy #2: “Why? WHY Mama? She’s a lady... (he paused for thought). Or is she? Is she, mama? Or is she... A LADY MAN?”

Me (struggling not to laugh) “I really don’t think so sweetie. I think she’s just gone to the loo in the wrong cubicle.”

Boy #2: “No, No. She’s a LADY MAN! She IS, Mama!”

Me: “Right. Now, let’s just put your coat on...”

Boy #2: “And what’s. That. SMELL? Is it the LADY MAN, Mama? Is it her?”

Me: “We’re leaving. We’re leaving now...”