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Zinochka was dreaming that she was being kissed by a grown man. It was harrowing and wonderful, but not scary at all because mom was around somewhere. Zina knew she was nearby and that she could call her for help, and – did not do that. The dream ended, and with it ended the kisses, and Zina squeezed her eyes tightly shut so she could be kissed just one more time.

Waking up had to happen anyway. Without opening her eyes, she kicked the blanket off with her feet, waited to cool off a little bit, and sat up. And immediately saw something horrifying: instead of her summer underwear, which enveloped her body so neatly, the chair held a pair of nasty knit long-johns, long enough to reach her knees. All the lingering sleepiness, all the pleasure of the morning, all the delight of a new day immediately disappeared. Zina grabbed the pants and, wearing only her nightshirt, charged into the kitchen.

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“Mom, what is this? Well? What is this!”

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Her parents were having breakfast, and she stayed back behind the door, only poking her head and arm into the kitchen.

“It’s October first,” her mom said calmly. “Time to wear warm underwear.”

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“I’m not a little kid anymore, I do believe!”

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“You’re not a little kid, but you only believe that.”

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“But why, why must I suffer like this!” cried out her daughter in despair.

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“Because you sit down in random places and might catch a chill.”

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“Don’t act out, Zinaida,” smiled her father. “We’re not in Africa here, wear what the climate requires.”

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“It’s mom that requires it, not the climate!” shouted Zinochka. “Every other girl can be normal, and I have to look hideous.”

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“Right now you really do look hideous. Unwashed, uncombed, and undressed.”

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Zina ran off with a mournful sob. Her mother and father looked at each other and smiled.

“Our girl is growing up,” said her mother.

“A bride,” added her father.

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