Someone in my family had a matryoshka doll. Or, well, a whole bunch of them, nested together until you set them free with that memorable little pop. Maybe it was my grandmother on my mom’s side. Or was it just my mom? I don’t know. Somebody. It was red.
And that’s the extent of my personal connection to Matryoshka. Thank goodness it’s such a good game or I would have lost interest almost immediately.