Mishka has a friend—a handsome guy named Dimka. He makes good money, his career is on the rise, success after success, and he knows a couple of languages.
He’s a bit high-strung, true, but that’s from overwork. He lives alone. And there’s a lady friend—smart and beautiful Nastya, excellent education, cultured, a diamond of a girl. Also a bit high-strung, again from overwork. She lives alone. It hurt to watch the two of them flounder in adult life. So Mishka had to introduce them.
At first everything went great—they even moved in together, that’s how well it was going. Then things got a little worse, and now, it seems, everything is coming to an end.
“What’s wrong?” Mishka asked, pouring tea into mugs.
“Uh… um…” Dimka struggled. “It’s just… In short, she’s not very feminine! She argues all the time, takes offense over trifles, always wants something, has her own business to attend to. That’s not what I dreamed of!”
“And what does ‘feminine’ look like?” Mishka inquired, sitting down across from him.
Dimka stared off into the distance, thinking.
“Well, first, she should give in! Meet me halfway! If I say, ‘Let’s go right,’ she should agree—right it is. Not this thing where I say ‘right’ and she says, ‘No, let’s go straight.’ She shouldn’t argue!”
Mishka nodded impassively.
“Got it. What else?”
“Second, she should be understanding!” Dimka heated up. “If I’m yelling, for example, it’s not because I’m a bad person. It’s because I’m in a bad mood. She shouldn’t take offense. She should, on the contrary, calm me down.”
“Like a mother, then,” Mishka noted with a slight smile.
“Not a mother!” Dimka protested. “A woman! An understanding woman!”
“Of course, sorry. Go on.”
“She should demand less! Not this endless ‘buy me this, buy me that.’ One minute it’s pizza, then buns, then stockings, for that matter. I’m happy to buy her that bun, but I should want to myself! Not be forced! You just have to wait until I feel like it!”
Mishka watched his friend with interest.
“And how long does it usually take you to feel like it?”
“What?”
“To buy buns. A month? Two?”
“That’s not the point!” Dimka snapped. “She should take care of me! So I feel she cares. I get her a bun—what do I get in return?”
“What is she supposed to give you?”
“Well… attention! Affection! I should be able to see she’s trying!”
“So, like a daughter, it turns out,” Mishka concluded.
“What daughter?!” Dimka flared. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I’m listening.”
“She shouldn’t hide anything!” Dimka went on. “If she’s going to meet a girlfriend—show me the text from the girlfriend. So I know everything’s on the level!”
“I see,” Mishka said, sipping his tea. “So she should care for you like a mother and obey like a daughter. If you find one like that, how exactly do you plan to sleep with her? That’s incest whichever way you look at it.”
Dimka blushed.
“No, no, no,” he caught himself, “no incest! A grown woman—mature, wise, and responsible!”
Mishka already guessed the next part would be about money.
“First of all, she shouldn’t climb on my neck,” the handsome fellow continued. “She shouldn’t try to make everything at my expense. Otherwise I feel used!”
“Uh-huh,” Mishka observed. “A special kind of daughter who obeys you but you don’t have to feed. Cool.”
“You don’t understand me!” Dimka protested. “Second, she shouldn’t count my money! She shouldn’t ask where it went and why there’s not enough. Otherwise I feel like I’m with a financial inspector!”
“Even better,” said Mishka. “A special kind of mother who cares but doesn’t control.”
“Are you mocking me?!” Dimka slammed his fist on the table.
“God forbid. I admire your logic.”
“Anyway, we’re adults and everything should be split fifty-fifty, all expenses!” Dimka ranted. “If she wants coffee and I don’t—she should buy her own coffee! And pay for her own taxi! Sure, she can borrow from me if she’s short. But she has to pay it back—I write everything down!”
“Sounds like you need a roommate,” Mishka concluded. “Split the rent, chip in on a vacuum cleaner, each person gets their own shelf in the fridge, and we take turns cleaning the toilet.”
“So what! That’s fair!” his friend bristled.
“Hold on—what does femininity have to do with any of this?” Mishka clarified.
“What do you mean? That’s the most important thing! So you can rely on her! Not a one-way street! You know… hand in hand. Shoulder to shoulder!”
“Great,” Mishka summed up. “An honest comrade who cares like a mother and obeys like a daughter. Now I know what ‘feminine’ means—thanks.”
A week later Mishka met Nastya in a small cafe. She looked tired but held herself with dignity.
“How are things?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” Nastya replied acidly. “I’m living with a man who behaves like a six-year-old but demands to be treated like a king.”
“Tell me more.”
“You know what delights me most?” Nastya laughed, but the laugh came out bitter. “He wants me to be independent—only in matters that don’t concern him. Turns out everything concerns him.”
“For example?”
“For example, I’m not allowed to choose the restaurant because he has an opinion. I’m not allowed to choose the movie because he has preferences. But I’m obligated to buy my own tampons, because that’s ‘women’s business’ and he’s embarrassed.”
Mishka smirked.
“And he demands romance,” Nastya went on. “But romance, in his view, is when I cook dinner, he lies on the couch, and then graciously agrees to intimacy. And the initiative, of course, has to come from me, because otherwise he’s not sure I want him.”
“Makes sense,” Mishka noted. “And if you don’t want to?”
“That doesn’t matter. If I don’t want to—I’m frigid. If I do—I’m promiscuous. The golden mean exists for exactly five minutes a month, when he’s in a good mood.”
“But what impresses me most is his attitude to money,” Nastya leaned back. “Everything has to be honestly fifty-fifty, you see? I pay for my food, he pays for his. My own taxi, my own clothes, my own entertainment.”
“Fair enough,” Mishka echoed.
“Of course!” Nastya’s eyes lit with a caustic spark. “Especially fair when I spend three hours cleaning his apartment and he magnanimously lets me do it for free. Or when I cook dinner for two, he eats his half and insists I pay for my share of the groceries.”
“And what do you do?”
“I keep my own ledger,” Nastya took out a notebook and waved it. “An hour of cleaning—five hundred rubles. Cooking dinner—a thousand. Washing his shirts—three hundred apiece. Sex—two thousand per session, because I professionally fake enjoyment.”
Mishka nearly choked on his tea.
“Seriously?”
“What did you expect?” Nastya laughed, this time genuinely. “If we’re playing capitalism, let’s play fair. So far he owes me seventy-eight thousand rubles.”
“And you know what’s funniest?” she continued. “He sincerely thinks he’s a progressive man. Because he doesn’t demand that I stay home and have children.”
“How generous of him.”
“Oh, absolutely! He even allows me to work. It’s just that my work has to be arranged so it doesn’t interfere with his comfort. Meaning I must always be available when he needs attention, support, or just someone to take out his bad mood on.”
“And if you’re in a bad mood?”
“I can’t be in a bad mood,” Nastya put on a look of innocent surprise. “I’m a woman! I must be a source of harmony and tranquility. And if I’m tired or upset, that means I’m the wrong kind of woman.”
“The wrong kind?”
“Sure! The right kind of woman is always in a good mood, always supportive, always ready for intimacy, and never has needs of her own.”
Mishka shook his head.
“So what are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” Nastya shrugged. “I’ll keep playing the role of a domestic geisha who also supports herself. Or I’ll find another option. Speaking of another option,” she smiled slyly, “do you need a girlfriend?”
“Me?” Mishka was surprised.
“Well, yes. You’re a normal man. You don’t demand that a woman be a mother, daughter, mistress, and comrade-in-arms all at once.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Do you?”
Mishka thought for a moment.
“You know, I really don’t. I think there’s only one thing to ‘demand’ of a woman—that she feel good next to me. The rest will take care of itself.”
“There you go,” Nastya nodded, satisfied. “Your friend wants a universal robot with an intimacy function.”
“Yeah,” Mishka agreed. “Only the snag is—robots still haven’t learned how to love.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” Nastya suggested. “Otherwise some robot might fall for him and he’d hand her a list of requirements.”
They laughed together.
“You know what I’ve realized?” Nastya said, finishing her tea. “Dimka isn’t looking for a woman. He’s looking for a mommy who’ll take care of him but won’t have the right to control him or ask anything of him.”
“And he also wants a daughter who’ll obey and admire him,” Mishka added.
“And a lover who’s always ready and never refuses.”
“And a comrade-in-arms who splits all expenses fifty-fifty.”
“And a housekeeper who cleans for free.”
“And a therapist who listens to all his complaints about life.”
They laughed again.
A week passed in heavy anticipation. Mishka understood the denouement was inevitable, and he wasn’t wrong. Nastya called on Tuesday morning.
“That’s it,” she said shortly. “I’m moving out.”
“When?”
“I’m packing already. Can you come? I need moral support.”
Mishka arrived half an hour later and found Nastya packing books into boxes. Clothes lay neatly folded on the couch.
“Where’s Dimka?” he asked.
“At work. I’ll leave the keys and a note. I don’t have the strength to talk it out with him.”
“What did you write in the note?”
Nastya handed him a sheet of paper. Mishka read: “Dimka, the relationship is over. The keys are on the table. The bill for 78,000 rubles stands. Your former housekeeper, cook, lover, and comrade-in-arms.”
“Harsh,” Mishka observed.
“He earned it,” Nastya said coolly.
Dimka showed up at Mishka’s the next day, bursting into the apartment red with indignation.
“Can you believe what that… what she did?!” he shouted from the doorway. “Ran off! Like a thief! And left some stupid note!”
“I’ve seen the note,” Mishka replied calmly.
“And what do you say to that?! Your girlfriend’s lost her mind! What 78,000, for God’s sake? For what? For living in my apartment?”
“For housework, as I understand it.”
“What housework?!” Dimka waved his arms. “She cleaned for herself! She cooked for herself! It’s not like I forced her!”
“You didn’t,” Mishka agreed. “You just ate what she cooked and lived in the apartment she cleaned.”
“So what?! We lived together! That’s normal!”
“Then why did she have to pay for her own food?”
Dimka faltered.
“That’s… different! We agreed to split everything!”
“Including housework?”
“What housework?!” Dimka protested. “Women love that stuff! Cooking, cleaning! It’s in their nature!”
“Right,” Mishka nodded. “Their nature is to love unpaid labor.”
“You’re mocking me!” Dimka slammed the table. “I thought you’d understand! And you’re taking her side!”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Mishka said. “I’m just trying to follow the logic.”
“What logic! She’s just a bitch! I did everything for her, and she…”
“What exactly did you do for her?”
Dimka was thrown.
“Well… I let her live in my apartment! Shared my bed! Took her to restaurants!”
“At her expense.”
“So what?!” Dimka was heating up. “And what did she give me in return? Nothing but problems! Always dissatisfied, always something wrong!”
“Maybe because your demands are contradictory?”
“No contradictions!” he barked. “I want a normal woman! Understanding! Caring! Independent!”
“Who will obey you, take care of you, and support herself.”
“Well, yes! What’s wrong with that?”
Mishka shook his head.
“Tell you what—go look for one. Maybe you’ll find her.”
Three months passed. Dimka really did look. He met people, went on dates, laid out his requirements. For some reason, women disappeared from his life quickly.
Nastya stayed. At first she rented a room, then Mishka suggested she move in with him.
“Temporarily,” he specified. “Until you find something suitable.”
“Temporarily,” she agreed.
But time passed, and Nastya didn’t look for another place. And Mishka didn’t remind her.
“You know what’s strange?” Nastya said one evening. She was sitting in the kitchen with her laptop, working on a project.
“What?” said Mishka, washing the dishes.
“With you I cook because I want to. With him I cooked because I had to.”
“What’s the difference?”
“With you I cook what I like. And I know you’ll appreciate it. With him I cooked what he demanded, and it still wasn’t right.”
Mishka dried his hands and sat down beside her.
“What else?”
“And with you I spend money on what I want. And I’m not afraid you’ll try to control me.”
“And I won’t.”
“I know,” Nastya smiled. “That’s why I want to spend it on both of us.”
“Neat trick of nature,” Mishka remarked.
“What do you mean?”
“When people aren’t forced, they want to do nice things.”
Nastya closed her laptop and turned to him.
“Mishka, are we… dating?”
“Aren’t we?”
“We just live together and we’re happy.”
“That’s what ‘dating’ is,” Mishka laughed. “Or do you want a stamp in your passport?”
“No,” Nastya laughed too. “I want it to stay like this. For us to be happy.”
“It will,” Mishka promised, and kissed her.
Dimka dropped by six months later. He looked battered and irritable.
“All women are crazy!” he announced from the doorway. “It’s impossible to find a normal one!”
“What happened?” Mishka asked.
“Met one. Pretty, smart, has a job. We dated a month. I explained how a relationship should work. You know what she said?”
“What?”
“She said I’m not looking for a woman, I’m looking for a maid with an intimacy function! Can you imagine the nerve?”
“I can,” Mishka nodded.
“And another one said I need a mommy, not a girlfriend! The rudeness!”
“Dimka, have you considered the problem might be your requirements?”
“What problem?!” he protested. “I’m offering honest, equal relationships! Everything fifty-fifty, no one exploits anyone!”
“Everything fifty-fifty—except the housework.”
“Well, women like to cook!” Dimka started to rev up. “And clean! It’s their—”
“Nature, yes. Heard it.”
At that moment Nastya came into the kitchen. Seeing Dimka, she raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “How’s it going? Found yourself a new victim?”
“Very funny!” Dimka snapped. “And I see you’ve made yourself comfortable!”
“Made myself comfortable?” Nastya smirked. “I live with a man who considers me his equal. Try it—you might like it.”
“I am looking for an equal!” Dimka protested.
“You’re looking for someone convenient,” Nastya corrected. “Those are different things.”
“All right,” Mishka cut in. “Good luck with the search, Dimka. We’ve got to go.”
“Go where?” Dimka asked.
“The theater,” Nastya replied. “It’s a premiere.”
“Who’s paying?” Dimka asked slyly.
“Why do you care?” Mishka was surprised.
Nastya slipped her arm through his.
“Let’s go or we’ll be late.”
And Dimka kept on searching. He looked for a woman who would be mother, daughter, lover, and comrade-in-arms all at once. Who would take care of him but not control him. Who would obey yet be independent. Who would support herself yet have no needs of her own.
And he wondered why all women turned out to be “the wrong kind.”