In my childhood I had toys. There was no Barbie. There was no money in the 90s. My best friend had 40 of them. The real ones. She even sometimes let me touch them, not just watch her play. She was brought by her sister from Moscow. And here, at her sister’s next arrival, I picked it up and cried, “Barbie, please bring me.” I’m terribly ashamed of these words now, but I was 6-7 years old. After a while, my girlfriend’s sister came back, boasting me with a new doll. I forgot about my request. I didn’t even think she would be executed. So 15 years have passed. My friends and I separated in high school. We met and walked. And here she tells me this story. You remember, you asked my sister to bring a doll. She bought it for you. I was sorry to give it and I left it to myself. You saw her later when we were playing.” Here you can consider me whoever you want – I came back after the meeting and cried for a long time. I was sorry for the little girl who dreamed of Barbie. I was sorry for being small. And here is the paradox, I lived well without knowing this story. I remembered that request. I did not expect any gift. I know no one owes me anything. She told me that and I am sorry. I want to buy a doll. I choose very jealously. Such things.