I sat on the bus. I barely managed to buy a ticket to the village where Robert’s mother lived. As it turned out, she lived in a rather popular tmutarakan. I thought that villages are dying out these days, but no, as it turned out, I was wrong. Robert never picked up the phone then, and the woman who was listed on his phone as “Garage” also disconnected her phone. Great idea!
It was very stuffy in the cabin of the bus. I was glad I didn’t have a seat in the sun. I looked around at the passengers. It was clear that they were all from the country. They were all very untidy, with tons of dirt under their fingernails! How could you not respect yourself to let such a piggy bank under your fingernails?
For example, I go twice a month for a manicure, because I have a special passion for well-groomed hands. What is the skin of the country ladies?! Actually, the lady is no more than twenty-five, but what about her face? Hair on her head – you could fry potatoes! And the belly – a woman-caterpillar, or a sausage. A salon full of hillbilly broads. I’ll never turn into that!
I’m no beauty, but I know my own worth. If you put me forty-five years old next to this young woman, my advantage is more than obvious. Any man would look at a beautiful woman, not ask how old a woman is. I am now addressing those who think that a twenty year difference between spouses is unseemly.
My Robert wouldn’t even look at a redneck like that. I have no idea what happened there with that “Garage,” but I think someone just brainwashed the boy pretty good.
