Margarita

I grew up in a two-story wooden house on the edge of Krasnoyarsk where the windows frost from the inside every winter. My mother still sends jars of pickled mushrooms every month and I keep them stacked beside my coffee maker like trophies. I work as a model for local brands and sometimes fly to Novosibirsk for bigger campaigns, but I always come back to my apartment above the old bakery on Prospekt Mira. When I am not in front of the camera I cook too much food at two in the morning and dance barefoot in the kitchen to old Russian pop. I want someone who can keep up when I get restless and who does not mind that I text at odd hours with half-finished thoughts.