I am a chauvinist. For me, half twelve is a late evening, and midnight is a deep night. I recently said goodbye to a boyfriend who for six months has never understood that you don’t need to call me at two o’clock at night to shout: “I just wanted to wish you a good night!” (I jump from a sudden night call, thinking that something terrible and probably tragic happened, then I can’t sleep back for a long time, all tomorrow I walk dark and struggle with the desire to bite someone).

A few days ago, I found out his version of the reason for the separation. I am not a romantic!