Fifteen years ago, in my past beautiful life, full of terrariums, a young man and I agreed to become bird-eating spiders. Lasiodora parahybana, if anyone is interested. I have a commodity - a boring lush lady with a height of legs of 22 cm, his merchant - a petty virgin, consisting of one leg and swollen from desire pedipalps.

I lived on the last floor of the 5th floor. To me, only on foot. As I remember, it was Saturday. The neighbor’s daughter was getting married. Clearly, all the stairs, starting from the first floor, are decorated with balls, pink ribbons, flowers and empty bottles of champagne. And before entering our floor there is a huge stretch "Happiness to you, young people!"

And here’s how much water has leaked, and still the picture in front of my eyes: I open the door – there’s a completely stunned boy, a garden with a bird-eater in his hands. And almost with tears in the voice: "Sorry for God's sake, you're out as prepared, and I didn't even bring the cake! We just have it for the first time.”

c) Svetlana Kotelkova