Emotions rule

‘What the hell?’ Yulya barked startled, looked around, at Katya and joined her laughter whisking the water off her face.

‘Sorry about that but I couldn’t help it. I’m glad you didn’t hit me back,’ Katya squeezed her apology through her fit of laughter, ‘Here is the tissue.’

Yulya’s next daydreaming happened during the lecture. This time she was awakened by her own burp. She looked around and realized that she was surrounded by about a hundred students looking at her. Some were giggling including her besties, others looking in bewilderment. Yulya blushed and whispered, ‘Oops, sorry.’

‘You’re not in your kitchen, silly,’ commented Tanya suppressing her laughter.

‘Oh, shut up,’ hissed Yulya.

After the lectures, the ladies went to one of the canteens. Picked a bunch of food. Salad, soup, cabbage pies, coffee with a chocolate bar. Instead of prayer before meals, they promised each other not to take so much ever again. Their habitual promise. And finally, they sat down to the girls’ talking ritual. Katya was the first to begin.

Chapter 8

Katya’s Story: her Stay in Germany for Three More Weeks

I

‘So where do I begin? Our German course was finished. You went to Paris and London. And I went to Leipzig to see Sarah, a friend of mine.

Being there already a week I was missing Berlin and was constantly texting to Mr. Curly Hair. One evening I wished him sweet erotic dreams, just for fun of course. I got a reply with ‘ja, feuchte Tr?ume. Schlaf gut, M?dchen’. I had no idea what feuchte Tr?ume were supposed to mean.

The next morning, while having breakfast with Sarah’s family, with an innocent face, not suspecting anything, I asked the whole table what that German word-combination meant. You should’ve seen their face expressions when I uttered those magic words. The big brother started giggling. Sarah’s Dad almost spat out the coffee he was drinking.

Sarah’s mother wondered, ‘I’m sorry, what again?’

‘Feuchte Tr?ume,’ I repeated na?vely though already suspecting something shady.

Then she managed to say with her pitying eyes, ‘Who told you this?’

‘Some guy from Berlin texted me this yesterday,’ I confessed. The mother wondered what message I wrote so as to get such a reply. I made an even more na?ve look and pronounced, ‘I simply wished him Goodnight. Somehow my head treated equally Good night and Sweet erotic dreams. But I swear, I did NOT mean anything by that. I just was in my silly mood, I guess.

‘Well, wet dreams mean,’ the mother started finding her words to explain properly.