Letters from our readers

Letters from our readers
Letters from our readers

My first husband was, as they say, the life of the party. Wearing long hair, playing the guitar, hitting the girls on the spot…

Letters from our readers

The first time I got married was when I was still in college. For great love, which was so strong and bright that it seemed that a little more - and the heart would break. The second time - at thirty-six, calmly and without noise. But only now I understand what love is.

My first husband was, as they say, the life of the party. He wore long hair, played the guitar, hit the girls on the spot. We studied together at the institute, and I still remember how I walked through the corridors of our university like a queen. After all, of all the beauties and smart girls, he chose me! It was love, like in the TV series. He could spend the entire scholarship on a huge bunch of flowers, and then eat pasta with ketchup for a month. He remained the same unpredictable after the wedding. He filled me with gifts, wrote letters on three sheets! When I was sad, he could come and say: “Get ready, let's go skydiving!” And I was scared to death, but I jumped. And sometimes he might not come home at all, and he didn't care what I thought about it. He could break loose in an instant and leave for a few days, and then return and shower me with declarations of love. In the six years of my life together, I did not have a moment of peace, I never knew what awaited me in the evening. And then it seemed to me: here it is, true love! Like in the movies! At the limit of feelings! But one day my husband disappeared not for a few days, but for six months and appeared only to congratulate his daughter on her second birthday and collect some of the things. Even then he swore his love to me, but said that he "had circumstances." And like a fool, I was waiting for him. He appeared and disappeared without explanation. Instead of helping us with my daughter, sometimes he asked me for money. And I endured everything. I thought: how can one refuse such love?!

I met Sergey while visiting friends. I was looking for workers to change old batteries and windows, and he turned out to be a foreman. Sergey volunteered to help, and we laughed at the fact that there are no honest builders in principle. I thought it was all a joke. Imagine my amazement when on Saturday morning he appeared at my house! He took measurements, called the workers and himself made sure that everything was done as it should. We've been together for three years now. I can count on my fingers the times he confessed his love to me. And he rarely gives me flowers. But since he came to my house for measurements, I feel that my daughter and I are like behind a stone wall. This is probably the real one.

Anna, Moscow

For the best letter, Anna receives a modem from Yota - high-speed wireless and unlimited Internet of the latest generation 4G

Don't be afraid of old age

I reason like this: when the children grow up, grandchildren will be born. I hope that my grandfather and I will be allowed to babysit them. I would not want to miss this happiness.

When I retire, I will leave the city to go to hell. At least for the summer. And all summer I will bask in the sun, breathe clean air, heat the stove if it’s cold (we have different summers), and listen to the logs burning, listen to the birds chirping, grow flowers and strawberries for grandchildren and children. In general, I will do what I didn’t have time for before.

I know for sure that in adulthood I will never allow myself to go gray-haired, with an unpainted head. On the contrary, I will have a fashionable haircut, a beautiful shade of hair, an interesting wardrobe and good cosmetics. Even when you have a very small pension, you can find something for both. It would be a wish.

Don't be afraid of winter. Now a he althy lifestyle is in vogue. I saw an adult woman at the rink. She did not drive, but rode slowly, by the hand with her son about ten years old. And so I liked this picture!

In winter, you can re-read the classics - long evenings, under the covers, over a cup of tea. To feel something more than our endless race, vanity, caring for someone, a lot of things - work and home. Stop at last. And don't let the family get in the way. We rest.

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