Inequal Marriage, Holst, Oil, 21st Century

The stupid story this week ended.

I sit in the office, something on my monitor, knocked on the door, and a girl entered. Twenty-five years, no more, long blonde hair, milky.

Are your bags sold here?

This fabric is as packaging as bags of potatoes. We sell it, although we sell everything from our warehouse in the suburbs. But some advanced buyers from time to time manage to grab somewhere our legal address, periodically appearing in the office. Obviously, it was one of those.

There was a standard dialogue for such cases.

- Sold, girl, but in stock and wholesale, at least a roll of 100 meters.
What if I only need 10 meters?
- Then not to us, look where they sell for meters.
– So I’ve gone all around, nowhere... – she breathed. Maybe I’ll sell it, I need it.

I don’t know why I didn’t refuse her, usually we don’t cut those rolls at all. Per because she spoke, unlike such visitors, somewhat polite. But most likely I just liked it. Such, do you know, a nice type of girls, without that, fashionable now, that most years from fifteen already demonstrates. Somehow very modest, but with taste dressed, which, I don’t really remember. It happens that when people have a taste then, you do not immediately remember how they are dressed. In something like grey that went to her blue eyes.

- Okay, I say, - here is your cell phone, if you do not find anywhere, call tomorrow at eleven, I will be in the warehouse until lunch, something is possible and we will come up with it.

She rejoiced, recorded the number and left.

The next day, in the usual workplace, I forgot about her, but at exactly eleven she called.

“Well, let’s say, until lunch time, I’m here.

I explained to her where the warehouse was and somewhere in half an hour she arrived on a maze-matroska. There was a guy behind the wheel, but the faces I did not uncover, the curtains, which for some reason now put on the front glasses, interfered. And for some reason he first walked past, then depicted something like a sports turn, and again flew past the warehouse, stopping ten meters from the door. I am not surprised by this clown, now many simply can't ride, stand out in a flat place.

The girl went out, and he was still sitting in the car, adding music.

We went to the warehouse with her and I, rolling up the roll and descending on the corks, began to measure the bag. Using our foldable meter was quite uncomfortable and I asked to fill the pause:

Where do you use it?

- On the decoration for the wedding - she silenced and breathed - the wedding designer in a rustic style makes us, it's like in the country. A sachet table is laid, and on it the food is in clay dishes. Other tablespoons will be wooden and bouquets with wheat.

Do you have it at your wedding? I was surprised, why are you so sad, don’t you want to get married?

She smiled, and maybe it was time.

Or maybe, I decided to joke a bit, you have an unequal marriage? Remember the third picture?

- Well, yes - she barely smiled again - probably, yes, uneven, they are rich. They hired the designer. Ta says that the main thing is not to scroll in the country, rustic and country are different styles. Country is rough, brutal, and rustic, although provincial, but refined.

Her last words sounded somewhat deaf, forcing me to raise my head.

The girl was crying. Large, transparent tears slowly rolled over her face, clearly one after the other, as if some silent timer was working.

That was what I missed here. I got up, took my nose cloth and stretched her to wipe tears. Something had to be said, but what to say in such a situation was absolutely unclear.

- Don't worry - I tried to somehow reassure her - everything will go well, it's just before the wedding, everyone is nervous at this time, such a period. You are not getting married, right?

- My mother and I are expelled from the pension - she cried loudly and wiped out her eyes - my father died, we didn't have time to re-form at the factory. My mother has not been up for six months, she is sick.

“Mazda” signed impatiently three times.

"We need to go, about the cars to negotiate - she seemed to have calmed up a little and returned me the t-shirt - he wants the limousine to take us black, and behind him two jeeps on the sides. And that no one is left behind, as the prince was at a wedding in England.

When I imagined Prince Harry not allowing a crowd of cars on the main streets of London, I couldn’t stand it, and I stumbled.

She noticed and also smiled a little, but somehow sad.

"Sorry, please, I don't know what happened to me - she got my wallet and gave me the money.

Having taken the money, I wrapped the cut piece of cloth with scotch and stretched the resulting clutch.

“Thank you,” she suddenly moved forward and suddenly kissed me in the cheek. For a moment I even felt how delicious her hair smelled.

Outside her bridegroom once again swallowed something Spartacus and a couple of times swallowed in.

We went to the exit, where she, taking the delivery, said goodbye and headed to the car.

And they left. We left to meet our future rustic wedding, bringing with us a dozen meters of our, as it turned out, exquisite baggage, and I remained standing at the door of the warehouse.

My thoughts went into my head something incomprehensible. There was a strange feeling of something, like to say, wrong. I wanted to smoke, although I quit a long time ago.

What happened before, is not my business.
But somehow the girl became sad, to be honest.

This is a stupid story.
by robertyumen