З життя
— Перепрошую, що ви сказали? — перепитала пані.
— Прабачте, що ви сказали? — перепитала Роза Григорівна.
— Я кажу, що ви мені сонце закриваєте! — повторив стрункий “чоловік” років п’ятдесяти, розтягнувшись на лежаку ліворуч від неї…
— А що ви хотіли, щоб таке розкішне декольте просто лежало? Звісно, я засмагаю стоячи. Так і сонцю приємно, і іншим є на що подивитися, — ще впевненіше заявила фактурна жінка-центнер у капелюсі з трояндочкою.
— Може, іншим і є на що дивитися, шановна… Тільки ж мене за вами ні сонця, ні будь-якої іншої особи жіночої статі не видно! — підводячись з лежака, писклявим голосом роздратовано парирував чоловік.
— А що вони у вас там не бачили? — не зрушивши з місця, стоячи, як литий, зневажливо уточнила Роза Григорівна, навіть не глянувши на туриста. — Або, якщо б на вас таки був попит, я б не помітила? Все тому, що ви бурчите, наче я вам копійку недодала, — закочуючи очі з недооцінкою, прохекала пані.
— Ну, знаєте! — Чоловік у пориві люті вскочив з лежака і… спіткнувшися об його ніжку, попрямував назустріч предмету злості і сонячного затміння.
Ще секунда — і його важкий ніс уперся прямо в місце стикання двох “літосферних плит” поверхні декольте, і він з радістю для себе виявив, що цілий і неушкоджений, завдяки тому, що об’єкт його роздратування не зрушився від його приземлення.
Роза Григорівна по-материнськи погладила скуйовджене від польоту волосся “метеорита”, щойно приземленого на її сьомий розмір пишних грудей. Дивлячись на розплющені щоки об’єкта нежданої удачі, жінка впевнено промовила: — Треба було вам сперечатися з моєю красою? Краще б одразу пояснилися, я б зрозуміла ваше становище: ну, не красень, ну, дрібнокаліберний… Але якщо голова хоче притулитися до чийогось серця… хіба я б не зрозуміла?.. Ходімо, нагодую тебе, конику мій жвавий, а то ж дивитися шкода.
І чи чоловік ще не прийшов до тями від болю (все ж таки щока в нього була сильно перекошена))), чи нагуляний від морського повітря апетит тиснув на логіку, а може, доля-талісман усе це влаштували… але він покірливо поплентався за Розою Григорівною у повному спокої і згоді.
Відтоді минуло вже років двадцять, не менше. Він, “її Коник”, значно округлився і добрішав, вона, “його Трояндочка”, об’єкт обожнювання, який ввібрав у себе проміння київського сонця, продовжує приходити по суботах на пляж, але вже не сама, а зі своїм Коником. Вона, як завжди, стає непреклонною статтю до сонця, а він — блідненький, біленький, так і не засмаглий, бо завжди лежить ліворуч у її тіні (щоб жодна особа жіночої статі навіть не подумала розглядати Коника) — милується видом і вдячно усміхається, згадуючи, як ця краса прийшла в його життя. А ще — передчуваючи смак заявлених на обід котлеток з картопелькою та шкварками (коронна страва Трояндочки, яку він скуштував того самого дня двадцять років тому).
Отже, мораль — приймайте події, навіть ті, що несуть пряму загрозу вашій зоні комфорту, у своє життя, без оцінювання, без упередження і з усмішкою! Адже можливо ця КРАСА вирішила прикрасити ваше існування яскравими фарбами і урізноманітнити його?!
Адже не дарма кажуть: «КРАСА СПАСЕ СВІТ!»…
І хто знає, від чого вона врятує вас в наступну мить і якими котлетками потішить того ж вечора, прикрасивши ваше горде худе і голодне самотність…
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