drawing mountains
“Oh-huh, poor O’Brian” said the old professor, the first she had heard to give a boring talk. “This awkward Pawaskar always is a trouble. I remember three or four years ago, we gathered in
Ukraine…”
“It was five years ago, Professor Nathanson.” said a middle-aged woman with black hair pushed high up her head. “Oh, doesn’t matter, don’t interrupt me, mercy…. So… what was I telling you, friends? Ah, yes, in Ukraine, Pawaskar decided to start a little romance with the secretary of the host of the conference – and she was a beautiful girl, blond, and her body was so beautiful, too, you know, that sand-glass figure, with full breasts…” The people on the bus smiled and winked to each other. This was the only topic, sounded interesting in Professor’s performance. “Anyway, so the girl lost the rest of her little brains and attention, and into each of 143 folders prepared for the closing meeting of the participants, along with the summary, she put a copy of his love letter, a gratitude for the great time she awarded him with during coffee breaks! And we were wondering, what bug he had in his tummy, spending all the time in the rest-room!” The men were laughing, amused, and the woman asked: “Do you know what happened to the girl?” “Why, she was fired, of course! It was a great scandal!” said professor Nathanson. “Poor creature” signed the woman. “Always troubles from you, men. And this Indian still enjoys himself in his
Caucasus.”
