Recently, one forum came across the topic "Relations with the former." Someone desire turned into friendship, and remained smooth, friendly relations. Someone decisively delimited with the past, such as "Maxim died, and fuck him." Someone told how his ex-girlfriend, being drunk, calls him and throws out a hail of reproaches and stinging mockery. Someone dawned on the bright idea of ​​putting in “revenge scenes” in retaliation on u-tube. Hmmm, [s] whoever doesn’t fuck, [/ s] which only happens in life!

To me, this topic about the former and relationships with them was inspired by the following memories. Let the verbose critics furiously expose: there are no snow-white yachts with scarlet sails and elegant cabriolets in the story, no moon-light or adventure on tropical islands, no bloodthirsty pirates and lovers of robots, not even criminality . Get out with the contest! Not in the entourage of romance, my dear! She is in thoughts and deeds, she is in an effort to do good deeds and give pleasure to friends and girlfriends, she is in disinterested joy from the fact that a loved one is good.

But more to the point! One fine day, my former mistress, Zoya, with whom good friendly relations nevertheless survived, among other topics worthy of serious discussion and cheerful tryndezh, mentioned that a friend from could only ghost in a terrible dream. Just like that nothing happens, and I pricked my ears!

In the week preceding her arrival, I found out the following. The most remarkable thing was that the friends never studied and did not work together, never lived in the same city. And we met in early childhood, in the All-Union Pioneer Camp, at the foot of a famous mountain with a bear silhouette, running, playing, swimming, sunbathing, picking up stones with holes “chicken god”, singing songs around the fire, crying goodbye and exchanging addresses. And they remained faithful to the correspondence for thirty years, moving relatively recently from paper to electronic. I saw them live three decades three times: we visited each other's weddings, and business trips somehow coincided somehow.

Less noteworthy, but fairly typical was information about the current life of Lesia. It has long been divorced, has an adult daughter to be married, owns a non-sick business, and not a single point, but a whole network of commercial properties. For this reason, he cannot choose a life partner in no way, the lack of which is not felt, because he suspects that they are not candidates for the body, but for the cause: he barely got rid of the drone husband. According to Zoya, there are two incarnations in Lesa: a sweet, kind woman who feels the need for men's attention, and a determined, sophisticated entrepreneur who is obsessed with the prosperity of her business creation. By the way, Zoe made a good career, however, in the state sphere. service. Deputy Head Department of the Executive Committee - this is the old way, in Soviet terms. And in a new way - the deputy. the minister Let not the federal, but the regional government, anyway, it sounds solid. And when the minister was on vacation or departure, he performed his duties, participated in meetings, gave interviews, spoke on television. Personal life did not help, if not harmed. Zoya was also divorced, raised two sons-students, and just had an affair with a widowed official of her rank living in another subject of the federation, but retired, and all the fuss about them if they get married.

“Zoe, you know, raiding is not my path.” And I will provide her men's attention, you know, too. Say a word, do a good deed for a friend!
- Hmm, well, you arrogant! Maybe put it to bed and give you the apartment key where it lies?
- I'll find the apartment myself and put it to bed too.You just give me her email address (or contact in social networks) and say, behold, they say, a man will write to you, my good friend, do not send to the black list without reading. I will not offer capital to me unnecessarily, I will not offer my hand, let him choose with his heart. Remind me when should Les come?
- A week later.
- OK, enough time.
- I say, you're arrogant and self-confident type ... Well, I will!

You will laugh, but the theme that has connected and rallied us was not politics and not business, not science and not art, much less not erotica and not pornography, but cooking. Lesia enthusiastically told how to cook borscht and dumplings, dumplings and dumplings, as well as other tasty dishes of the national and international cuisine. I basically poddakivat, licked delightedly (oh, here to try) and enthusiastically confirmed (yes, I tried, really super). And the day before her arrival in our region modestly invited to visit, in order to conduct a tasting of the only dish that I can cook at home - fried potatoes (I can also cook scrambled eggs with tomatoes, but the roast is more tasty). Having promised that I would humbly accept all her remarks and wishes, if she pleases to give me a master class, how, according to the rules of culinary art, this most complicated and sophisticated dish should be prepared.

One day after the date of Lesi’s scheduled arrival, Zoya calls me.

- Well, satisfied, sneaky? Charmed another victim? All ears buzzed about you. Now keep your brand, do not disappoint! - through the formal censure comes through in intonations and praise to me, and the surprise of the quick capitulation of a previously inaccessible girlfriend, and even a drop of jealousy seemed to me.
“And I am ... yes, I am nothing ...” I muttered, mowing under the simpleton, “we are more and more about borscht and burgers.” Here, we will fry the potatoes.
“Ha-ha,” Zoya said ironically, “I know that you'll be frying there.” More precisely, whom. In short, the day after tomorrow, at half past one, the Juventus cafe you know where? Lesia and I will be there. Be kind to appear and back up the virtual charm with personal charm. If you can, I’ll go to work for two, you will stay. No - we will leave together, you will remain elbow bite. Fershteyn?
- Yakshi, Mon Generale! - I cried in a romantic fit, confusing languages, eras and styles. - Oh yes, das ist fiction!

When at the specified day and time I sat down with my friends in Juventus, the disposition was as follows. A tall and thin brunette with glasses and a strict business suit phlegmatically cracked down on the remnants of lettuce and roast, sipping at times from a tall glass of beer. Before the second - blue-eyed, plump blonde, there was only a glass with juice. Of course, you already understood everything. These were Zoya and Lesya.

A bit of social talk, the exchange of courtesies about local sights and the appearance of interlocutors, Les is a little embarrassed, the charm itself, but in anticipation of an early solitude, I am drowned in nightingale. Some time later, Zoya, who started looking at her watch, throws a questioning glance at her friend, who nodded slightly, nodding back, and Zoya, wishing us a pleasant time and giving me strict instructions to give Lesya a ride right to her porch, says goodbye to us.

Suddenly, all the prepared compliments and excellent sharpness fly out of memory. I sit and just look into Lesya's eyes - endless as heaven, as bottomless as the sea. She silently and calmly, smiling at the edge of her lips, looks at me. What does she see in my eyes? The cover of night romance, which will hide us, will fence off the impenetrable wall from the rest? Or the bottom of the deepest gorge?

- Well, let's go fry potatoes? - finally coming out of a stupor, I appeal to Lesa.
- And let's go! - cheerfully and recklessly, at the same time she answers gently and devotedly. I'm just melting ... what a woman, truly lovely!

Here we are in the hallway of the apartment, made especially for gastronomic and other amenities. Damn, how I want to hug Lesya, cuddle, nestle on the neck, inhale the wonderful aroma of perfumes and the smell of a woman, seize it without delay.I'm sure she will give in! But the contracts must be respected: it is said that first of all aircraft, then we will fry