Women are not unicorns

A new chapter of my book, this is a new chapter of my life. And it’s harder to view it from the same ironic angle as youth. But still, may my husband forgive me, I will try to speak as it is, without tinsel and unicorns.

Let me start with the fact that in my fourth year I was on the verge of expulsion. Is it true. At the end of the third, I failed Pathophysiology, and in response to my tears, I was allowed to retake the exam in September.

In the fall, I came to my senses, passed the test and then moved into battle as a good student. There were no absenteeism, no grades, no grades, no failures. I got a job and stopped looking for a boyfriend.

Girls, I finally stopped. She lost weight, pumped up, tanned, glowed both externally and internally.

There were still rare breaks, but they were so well-mannered that I would call it petty stupidity rather than a break.

One day there was a guy lying next to me that I really liked, but he just listened to how I worried about life, admired the beauty and let me fall asleep instead of taking advantage of the situation. When I woke up later, my friend had already seen the guys off and admired my progress in curbing male egoism.

— You didn’t have anything?

— We didn't even take off our clothes.

— Have you even kissed?

— No. He was lying nearby. And his only touch was a gentle lifting of a curl from his face behind his ear. — I smile slyly.

— Wow. You're making progress. I didn't succeed.

By the New Year I was already a different person. Confident, purposeful, shoulders back, chin to the sky, the gait of a brave man.

No guys, no alcohol, no cigarettes, no junk food and no soul-searching.

One day, returning from school, I wanted something unusual. I went on a social network to look for advertisements for small earnings. And I came across a photo shoot for the cover of a business magazine. No payment was offered, but the feeling of one’s own unsurpassability was comforting. I immediately called and went to the “casting”

The art director of this event, of course, cheated in order to force the girls to try and not pay for the work. But I didn’t mind, I wanted non-standard entertainment and a little self-affirmation.

In the then popular club "Territory", empty of visitors, there were only twenty blonde girls, the same art director and cover star — a gray-haired unpleasant man.

I, along with four other models, were placed next to him, the rest were placed on the edges. I looked at this man with the thought: “It’s so important to be likeable when you work in the business world. And how important it is to have a pleasant appearance if you are in show business.”

I considered myself part of the show, because what was it at that moment, if not window dressing. An elderly plump man among young blondes in swimsuits and stiletto heels.

The girls and I chatted happily in the locker room, when it was all over, we were given a contact where we could contact and receive our magazine as a souvenir. I left happy and a little smarter than when I arrived.

After some time, the same art director came to the massage parlor (where I worked), I recognized her. Not the nicest girl, but at least I received my magazine before the others.

Unfortunately, she liked the way I lathered… oh, sorry, lathered her neck: she sent her boss (part-time husband) to me.

Can you imagine my bewilderment and awkwardness when, under my arms on the massage table, lay that same gray-haired, large man with all his folds who wanted to be massaged.

My fragile little hands tried their best. I almost jumped next to her to apply enough effort. That's why Thai girls sit on top of you, they're just trying not to jump.

Do you think I talk so much about this man because he is the one? Am I hinting to you that I took a man away from the family with my attempts that vaguely resemble a massage?

Oh no. Fortunately, no. This sexually mature (or rather elderly) bear turned out to be just a point on the way to meeting my husband. An important point. So fat and sharp.

He left, to put it mildly, dissatisfied. Silently, without thanks and fireworks.

Confused, I was left wondering why on this day it wasn’t Zhanna, our mastodon specialist with hands born to knead the dough of large men.

So what happened next?

On January 3rd, two thousand and eleven, I went to a nightclub alone because I really wanted to, but my friends refused at the very last moment and generally bothered me. This doesn't usually happen. You are right, for me it was a non-standard situation. I am the life of the party. The outrage knew no bounds. However, that didn't stop me from going to the club. At that time I knew a lot of partygoers, DJs in the end, and hoped to find some friendly company right there.

And yes, it was the first time that I was so independent of my friends, of the situation, confident in myself, to go alone to a night event in a city of three hundred thousand on New Year’s holidays.