Meeting your boyfriend’s father is always stressful. You want to make a good impression, you want to be liked. I thought our meeting would happen in the right setting too—at the very least I’d be dressed, not pinned against the wall by his son in the moment when we were going to do… you know what.
— Come on, Ann, he’s normal, — Kostya pulls me by the hand after I almost sank through the floor from embarrassment.
— I’m not going! He just saw my chest!
— So what? Do you think this is the first chest he’s seen?
— This is MY chest!
— Trust me, he doesn’t care. He’s forgotten it—one hundred percent.
But he hadn’t. And I won’t forget either. How could something like that be forgotten?