Five days ago, I started a great battle with the dust on my overhead shelves and stumbled upon a box marked "Do not open until the end of the world." Inside lay IT. A gift from my ex, Oleg, for our second anniversary. Do you know what it was? No, not a ring. Not even a coffee grinder. It was a huge, pink, plush pig wearing a striped sailor shirt that sang "Vladimirsky Central" when you pressed its belly🐷
I sat on the floor among old newspapers and stared at this monster. Oleg always said he had a "special sense of humor." But my god, five years ago I actually tried to find a place for this in my decor! I put the pig on the dresser, covered it with a blanket, and pretended it was "ironic postmodernism."

Then Oleg left, but the pig stayed.

Looking at it now, I felt a strange mix of horror and relief. It was the perfect marker! If someone gives you a singing pig in a sailor shirt, knowing you love minimalism and Chopin—that’s not humor.
That’s an SOS signal I stubbornly ignored🏳️🏳️🏳️

I pressed the pig's belly.
"The northern wind..." it wheezed in a dying voice. I smiled, put it in a recycling bag, and felt my soul get a couple of kilograms lighter. Girls, if your boyfriend gives you something that makes you want to call an exorcist immediately—run. Or at least don't keep it on your shelves. Life is too short for bad gifts and even worse associations!