Цiкаво
Тайська модель зробила підбірку фото, де розповіла, як все відбувається насправді!
Всі ми знаємо «ідеальні» фотографії з соціальних мереж і часто уявляємо собі схожі картини власного життя. Саме тому Вієнна Долл вирішила продемонструвати ту сторону життя про яку всі забувають. І це дивиться дуже смішно!
Коли ти викладаєш фото/коли твоя подруга викладає фото з тобою.
©viennadoll
Яке фото ти хочеш/ яке фото ти отримуєш.
©viennadoll
Ранок починається з кави/ реальний сніданок.
©viennadoll
Коли хлопець прийшов у гості додому/ коли прийшла подруга.
©viennadoll
Твої очікування від фотосесії/отримані фото.
©viennadoll
Красиве фото/плата за нього.
©viennadoll
Спільні свята на початку відносин/коли ви разом вже кілька років.
©viennadoll
Коли занадто довго фотографувалася на вулиці у масці.
©viennadoll
Ідеальний карантин/ карантин такий, як він і є.
©viennadoll
Як ти малюєш стрілки на відео/ у житті.
©viennadoll
Коли фотографуєшся, як спортсменка/коли дійсно починаєш «пахати».
©viennadoll
Очікування і реальність сексуального фото.
©viennadoll
З життя25 хвилин ago
“Please… Don’t Leave Me Alone Tonight: The Heart-Stopping Night Retired Officer Calvin Hale’s Loyal German Shepherd Ranger Refused to Say Goodbye”
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A Bruised 7-Year-Old Boy Walks Into A&E Carrying His Baby Sister—What He Said Next Broke Every Heart In The Room
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Three O’Clock in the Morning Mum’s Phone Rings: How a Stray German Shepherd and Four Cats Taught a Stubborn Son the True Meaning of Kindness
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The Manor Smelled of French Perfume and Lovelessness. Little Lizzie Knew Only One Pair of Warm Hands—Those of the Housemaid Nora. But One Day Money Went Missing from the Safe, and Those Hands Disappeared Forever. Twenty Years Passed. Now Lizzie Stands at a Doorstep Herself—With a Child in Her Arms and a Truth That Burns in Her Throat… *** The Scent of Dough Was the Scent of Home. Not the grand house with marble staircase and three-tiered chandelier where Lizzie spent her childhood—but a real home. The one she’d dreamed up while sitting on a kitchen stool, watching Nora’s work-worn, red hands knead the elastic dough. “Why does dough breathe?” five-year-old Lizzie would ask. “Because it lives,” Nora would reply, not pausing in her work. “See how it bubbles? It’s happy it’s going into the oven. Odd, isn’t it? Being happy for the fire.” Lizzie hadn’t understood then. But now—she understood. She stood by the edge of a broken country road, clutching four-year-old Michael to her chest. The bus had gone, leaving them in the pale February twilight, surrounded by that particular village silence where you can hear snow crunching under a stranger’s boots three houses away. Michael didn’t cry—he’d almost forgotten how in the last six months. He only watched with solemn, grown-up eyes, and each time Lizzie shivered: Michael’s father’s eyes. His chin. His silence—always hiding something. Don’t think about him. Not now. “Mum, I’m cold.” “I know, darling. We’ll find it soon.” She didn’t know the address. Didn’t even know if Nora was still alive—twenty years had passed, a whole lifetime. All she remembered: “Pinewood Village, Sussex.” And the scent of that dough. And the warmth of those hands—the only ones in the big house that stroked her head just because, for no special reason. The lane led past sagging fences. Here and there, yellow lights glowed in windows—dim, but alive. Lizzie stopped at the last cottage—because her legs couldn’t go any farther, and Michael had become much too heavy. The gate creaked. Two snow-covered steps to the porch. The door—old, warped, paint peeling off. She knocked. Silence. Then—shuffling footsteps. The sound of a bolt sliding back. A voice—cracked, aged, but achingly familiar, making Lizzie’s breath catch: “Who’s out there in the dark at this hour?” The door opened. A tiny old woman in a knitted cardigan over her nightgown stood on the threshold. Her face—like a baked apple, wrinkled a thousand ways. But her eyes—the same. Faded, blue, still alive. “Nora…” The old woman froze. Then slowly raised the same hardworking, knotty hand to Lizzie’s cheek. “Oh, my word… Lizzie?” Lizzie’s knees buckled. She stood, clutching her son, unable to utter a word—only tears running hot down her cold cheeks. Nora asked nothing. Not “where from?”, not “why?”, not “what happened?”. She simply took her old coat, hanging on a nail by the door, and wrapped it around Lizzie’s shoulders. Then gently lifted Michael—who didn’t even flinch, just watched with those dark eyes—and held him close. “There now, you’re home, my little sparrow,” she said. “Come in. Come in, love.”
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Eager to Walk Down the Aisle: Alla’s Second Chance at Love, a Son in His Twenties, a Cheating Husband, and a Romance with Her Former Algerian Student—But Will She Choose Her Old Flame or a New Beginning?
Ellen was eager to get married againsuccessfully, this time. Her first go at matrimony hadnt exactly been a fairy tale....
З життя4 години ago
Is the Orchid Really to Blame? “Polly, take this orchid or I’m throwing it out,” Kate said, carelessly picking up the clear pot from the windowsill and handing it to me. “Thanks, Kate! But what’s wrong with this orchid?” I was surprised. After all, three more gorgeous, well-tended orchids stood in her window. “It was a wedding gift for my son. And you know how that all ended,” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Denis got divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—I bet it was a serious reason. Denis adored Tanya,” I said gently, not wanting to reopen a fresh wound. “I’ll tell you the full story one day, Polly. For now, it’s just too much,” Kate said, getting a bit teary. I brought the “banished” and “rejected” orchid home. My husband looked sympathetically at the wilting plant. “Why do you want that poor thing? There’s no life in it. Even I can see that. Don’t waste your time,” he insisted. “I want to revive it. Give it some love and care. You’ll see—soon you’ll be impressed by this orchid!” I replied, determined to breathe life back into the drooping flower. He winked playfully: “Who ever turns down a bit of love?” A week later, Kate called: “Polly, can I come over? I can’t keep this bottled up anymore. I want to tell you everything about Denis’s failed marriage.” “Of course, Kate. I’m here whenever you need me,” I assured her—remembering how she’d supported me through two rocky marriages of my own… After all, we’d been friends for years. Kate arrived within the hour, settled in the kitchen, and for hours, over a glass of dry wine, a mug of coffee, and some dark chocolate, she shared the whole, tangled tale. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such things. Denis and Tanya were together for seven years. Denis left Annie—who I adored, by the way—for Tanya, who was just stunning. He was absolutely besotted, following her around like a lovesick puppy. Tanya looked like a model—men couldn’t help but stare. But for all those years, they never had a child. I figured Denis wanted everything by the book—get married, then have kids. Denis is private, and we never pried. Finally, Denis told us: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. I’m throwing a huge wedding—no expense spared.’ He was thirty. We were thrilled that he’d finally settle down. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be postponed twice—once Denis got sick, then I was held up at work. It felt odd, but Denis was glowing with happiness—I didn’t say anything. Denis even wanted to have a church wedding with Father Christopher, but the priest was called back to his home parish. Nothing was going smoothly. It seemed like the world was warning us… The wedding was spectacular, noisy, extravagant. Here—look at the wedding photo. You see that orchid? Glorious, in full bloom. Its leaves stood tall like soldiers. And now? Just limp rags remain of it. …Denis and Tanya planned their honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was barred from leaving the country—something about an unpaid fine. Denis swatted away these troubles like flies. …But then Denis got seriously ill. Ended up in hospital, things looked grim. Doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited for a week, then bluntly told him: ‘Sorry, but I can’t handle being married to an invalid. I’m filing for divorce.’ Polly, imagine my son—bedridden—hearing that. But he only said: ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight you.’ So they divorced. But Denis got better—thanks to a wonderful doctor named Peter. And Peter had a lovely 20-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis turned up his nose: ‘She’s just a slip of a girl—not even pretty.’ ‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve already had a model for a wife…Better to be happy drinking water together than sipping honey in sorrow.’ …Time passed. Mary totally fell for Denis—called all the time, trailed after him everywhere. So we tried nudging them together—day at the park, barbecue, campfire. Denis looked miserable, barely noticing Mary’s devotion. I told my husband: ‘It’s hopeless. Denis is still obsessed with Tanya. She’s a thorn in his heart.’ …Three or four months later—ding dong! It’s Denis, holding that infamous orchid. ‘Here you go, Mum—remnants of past happiness. Do as you like with it—I’m done with it.’ I took it reluctantly and basically ignored it, blaming the poor flower for my son’s heartbreak. One day, a neighbour says: ‘Kate, I saw Denis with that petite girl. His ex-wife was more glamorous, for sure.’ But then Denis announced, hand-in-hand with Mary: ‘Meet my wife—Mary. We got married quietly at the registry office, then Father Christopher married us in church. Mum, Dad, no big fuss this time! It’s forever now.’ I pulled him aside: ‘Denis, are you sure you love her? Is this for revenge against Tanya?’ ‘No, Mum. I’m over it. That woman is my past—I’m done even saying her name. Mary and I are right for each other.’ And that’s the tale, Polly. Kate finished her story, right down to the last detail. …Two years passed. Life swept us along. But the orchid? It flourished again—blooming beautifully after care and love. Flowers know how to say thank you. I met Kate at the hospital maternity ward: ‘Hi, mate! What brings you here?’ ‘Mary just had twins—being discharged today!’ Kate beamed. Denis and his dad hovered nearby, Denis clutching red roses. Out came exhausted but glowing Mary, with two sleeping bundles in tow. Then came my daughter, holding my own new granddaughter. Meanwhile, Tanya was begging Denis for forgiveness and a fresh start. …But glue a broken teacup, and no one really wants to drink from it…
IS THE ORCHID TO BLAME? Emily, take this orchid with you or Im throwing it in the bin, Kate said,...
З життя4 години ago
“Please… Don’t Leave Me on My Own Again, Not Tonight.” The Final Plea of Retired Detective Calvin Hale and the Unbreakable Bond with His Loyal Old Police Dog, Ranger – An Act of Devotion That Turned a Neighbour’s Quick Thinking and a Paramedic’s Compassion into a Midnight Rescue Neither Will Ever Forget
Please dont leave me on my own tonight. Not again. Those were the last words 68-year-old retired officer Arthur Bennett...