Age is a long-awaited vacation from illusions ...
Since childhood, I dreamed of glory. Dried in an eternal disorder from what has not yet come for a monument. Jokes like "Mom, do not throw away, it is for the museum-apartment," my mom is quite quickly tired.
The child of the ever-medium height, at school photos I was placed in the middle, between someone's shoulder and someone's shoulder, and tried to push literally, often falling through the sitting in the first row.
I hated a little man and suffered from it, and only innocent intelligence did not allow me to capture the ax (for Dostoevsky).
And suddenly recently let me go. I literally physically felt wearing the threads pulling me up. Dude, I turned to myself quite familiarly, which with me, the Sun-like, did not happen before, in your forty with the gas becomes the famous elementary late, everything, you can exhale and relax.
Well, in fact.
What goes in the basic package of glory? Photoshoot? Mistress? A television? Paparazzi?
For photo shoots, I am hopelessly worn out. I have not been drinking for many years, that is, there is no time in the body for a long time. The trendy photographer will whisper the assistant about kilogram bags under my eyes and the overall disproportionality of the face (the consequence of my innate surprise) and, in the end, will offer to wait until I rub. And I will hear, and I will be awkward.
Mistress. Suppose. That's just the first to take me back to his wife as illiquid and thereby hopelessly dropping my and without the fragile reputation in the house. So, he doesn't even need mistresses, the wife will think, Yeah, very interesting.
Of course, I will be invited to Andrei Malakhov and will be placed between Tsymbalyuk Romanovskaya and Singer Julian, whoever it is. In the right places, I will giggle or frown, and then from the excitement of some nonsense. As part of the transfer, it will be unnoticed, but people from the Internet can watch me, and how to explain it, why do I carry this nonsense of not twenty, and in forty?
And the paparazzi will simply be returned to me from pity. They will be embarrassed to turn a person who with popcorn revises "Ellen and Guys." In slippers. With pompoms.
Age is a long-awaited vacation from illusions. Time for a protein to plunge from their wheels. You are sanging your own. The mirror did not answer.