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And amidst the bickering between me and Twigson and the lack of prospects for its imminent end, I needed an outlet like air. A little more than that.

– Since you bought the tickets, I’m buying the bad stuff. – I push his hand away as Shea reaches for his wallet to pay for our popcorn and Pepsi.

– I actually make good money.

– You said that before.

– And you didn’t hear it again.

To end the bickering, I shove both buckets at him and pull him into the hall by the sleeve. The girl at the entrance checks the tickets and shoots Shi an expressive and playful look. No wonder-he’s definitely very attractive, and I don’t look right for him in my Kikimora outfit. But Shea doesn’t even bat an eyebrow and, shining his phone flashlight on the road, looks for our seats.

As we settle into our comfy seats, Shea glances a little jealously at my companion on the right, an older but good-looking man with glasses and the look of a professor who is very uncomfortable with the fact that he looks like he went to Discovery and ended up watching a horror movie about two, god forbid, exorcists. And I can’t get the look the girl at the door gave me when she “rewarded” me goodbye out of my head. Obviously, I’m in great shape, and I don’t look like I’m thirty-five, but I’m older than Shea. I’m certainly not old enough to be his mother, much less his grandmother! But yes, I am older. And for some reason, it turns out that in our totally crazy society, with a seven-year difference in the man’s direction, it’s always a bonus for him, a plus. Like, a handsome man, since he took a young woman at his age! But if that seven years goes to a woman… Well, that’s where the problems begin. Because: “Couldn’t he choose a younger woman? And when she’s forty, he’ll be only thirty-something, she’s already an old woman, and he’s a young dog!”