purely out of the instinct of self-preservation.

Ten days ago, a friend of mine headed to Odesa with shining eyes. Before leaving, she sent photos of swimsuits and solemnly declared:
"That’s it. Don’t look for me. I’m going to live in the sea."

A day later, the first message arrived:
— The swimsuit is currently serving as outerwear...

Another day passed:
— We aren’t sunbathing. We’re warming ourselves against a cup of coffee.

Then came a photo of the beach: umbrellas, jackets, wind, and one heroic man who had waded knee-deep into the sea. The others stood on the shore, watching him as if he had voluntarily set off to conquer the North Pole.

The final report was a masterpiece:
"I realized the vacation was a success. I went swimming once. Though not on purpose—a wave decided an introduction had to take place without my consent."

Now she tells everyone:
"If you want to freshen up your relationship, go to Odesa. After being in 18–19°C water, you’ll hug just about anyone—purely out of self-preservation.