Yesterday, in the yard, we had a funeral banquet for a neighbor. Another neighbor, a living one, 60 years old and quite tipsy from the memorial drink, was sitting opposite me. Focusing his bleary eyes on me, he said “Lena, you’re bery bootiful. Let’s live together!” and vomited right after these words. It was the first time someone proposed me in that manner. Thanks to my Guardian Angel for the neighbor didn’t vomit on me.