Always give an odd number of flowers to the living; even numbers are for funerals

Setting:
A small, cozy apartment in St. Petersburg. The kettle whistles, and blini sizzle on a pan. Snow drizzles softly against the window. Masha, wearing a fuzzy purple sweater, sets down a vase of tulips on the table—eight of them. Her friend Dima, still wearing his winter coat, freezes mid-step.

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Dima:
Wide-eyed Masha! What are you doing?

Masha:
Laughs Making blini and putting tulips on the table. Why?

Dima:
Eight tulips? Eight? You can’t give an even number of flowers! That’s bad luck—it’s for the dead!

Masha:
Oh come on, Dima. It’s not like I summoned the Grim Reaper with a floral arrangement.

Dima:
This isn’t a joke! Even numbers at funerals, odd numbers for the living—that’s just how it is. It’s our tradition.

Masha:
It’s your superstition. I got a discount on a bunch of tulips, and eight looked symmetrical. That’s science—symmetry is beautiful.

Dima:
Masha, I’m telling you, this stuff matters. My aunt gave twelve roses to her friend on her birthday once—three weeks later, the poor woman slipped on ice and broke her hip. Coincidence?

Masha:
Yes! That’s exactly what coincidence means.

Dima:
You can’t just ignore centuries of tradition. Russians have always followed this. You think generations of babushkas were wrong?

Masha:
Babushkas also thought sitting on cold stone makes your ovaries freeze. You want to bring that back too?

Dima:
That’s different! Some of these things are just… culturally rooted. It feels wrong to break them.

Masha:
Look, I get the symbolism. Even numbers = pairs = completion = death. Odd numbers = continuation. Fine. But flowers don’t carry invisible death rays based on how many there are.

Dima:
Maybe not rays, but energy. Intent. Spirit. You can’t measure everything with a ruler and a thermometer.

Masha:
You believe in thermodynamics when your phone’s overheating. Why not apply logic elsewhere too?

Dima:
Because logic doesn’t cover everything, Masha. Some things—like tradition—just feel right in the bones. Like wearing socks inside out during exams for luck.

Masha:
Sips tea, smirking And yet you failed your chemistry exam last spring. Maybe your socks weren’t lucky enough.

Dima:
They were wool. Maybe the synthetic ones work better.

Masha:
Look—I respect tradition. I just don’t think it should dictate my flower arrangements. If I want to give someone four, six, or twenty tulips, I will. I’d rather show love than fear.

Dima:
Just don’t give me an even number. I don’t want your well-intentioned floral curse.

Masha:
Deal. For you, I’ll always throw in an extra stem. But only if you admit there’s no actual scientific basis for it.

Dima:
Grumbles Fine. But don’t blame me if a crow lands on your balcony tomorrow.

Masha:
I’ll invite it in for tea and blini. Maybe it’ll teach you some logic.

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(They both laugh. The kettle whistles again.)