I will teach you to think heterosexually.

"Mom, when are we going to our new dacha, you know, to get out into nature, I really want to go, to grill some shashlik, to go into the forest."

My daughter asked me, fanning her sweaty face with a fashion magazine she was looking at.

We were sitting at the kitchen table; it was hot in the apartment, despite the autumn outside the window.

> What you need is a big dick, not shashlik> I thought to myself, looking at my daughter with distaste.

I really raised a slut, and who is she like? Definitely not me. At her age, I wasn't going to bed with casual acquaintances at a disco.

Although, times were different then, not like now, when you can arrange for sex in a couple

of minutes on the internet.

How many times have I told this bitch, Olya, if you're sleeping with guys, then use protection. I, the fool myself, bought her condoms by the pack, gave her birth control pills, all useless, she "got knocked up" and doesn't even know by whom.

She could have at least told her mother she was pregnant, I would have quickly sent her for an abortion, fortunately a friend is a gynecologist.

But no, damn it, she hid from me that she got pregnant. I guessed from her belly, but it was already too late; with that term, no doctor would perform an abortion.

If only the fool had thought about what money she would use to support a child?

On my teacher's salary, you can't really splurge; the money was barely enough to live on.

Olya didn't work, she was studying at the institute. My son was finishing school; the guy turned 18 this autumn and in the spring, right after school, he was supposed to be drafted into the army.

"As soon as your brother fixes the car, then we'll go..."

I answered my daughter, looking out the second-floor window into the yard, where Igor was tinkering with the engine of our old "nine" right under the windows of our apartment.

I bought this car quite recently, for my son. Igor was finishing school and already had a driver's license. I had some savings, so I decided to indulge the guy, knowing his love for technology.

"Well, looks like he's already fixed it."

My daughter opened the window and the roar of our "nine" burst into the room; the car had a broken muffler and my son was planning to replace it today, as soon as he fixed the ignition in the engine.

"Well then, we'll go tomorrow for the weekend. But we won't exactly be relaxing there, Olya. First we need to get the house in order."

I answered my daughter, lighting a cigarette, standing by the window and blowing streams of tobacco smoke through the vent.

In our family, only my son didn't smoke. The guy was seriously into sports and couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes well, so, sparing Igor's health, my daughter and I, if we smoked at home, did it on the balcony in summer and in the kitchen through the vent in winter.

"Pregnant women shouldn't smoke. Olya should at least quit until the baby is born."

I said to my daughter reproachfully when she stood next to me by the window with a cigarette in her hand.

"I only smoke a couple, maybe three cigarettes a day, so it won't do any harm."

My daughter took a deep drag and released a long stream of smoke from her full, brightly lipsticked lips into the open vent.

> To hell with her, let her smoke. Olga is worried that she'll have to raise the child alone, without a husband, and here I am prying into her soul. If only I could lie in bed with her naked, cuddle... What a bitch, a "dyke". I raised a fine son