The story took place in my deep childhood, when my mother’s puzzles on the horizon were introduced to primitive horror.

The morning. My mother calls. “Get the cocktails out of the freezer in the evening to freeze up,” he says. “Just don’t forget. Do not forget, I say.”

But the day was long and busy, so I remembered my promise only after my mother called, “Overall, I’ll be home in 20 minutes, I hope you haven’t forgotten the cocktails.”

Panic and panic! My childhood brain was looking for any way to accomplish a party task from a mom in such a short period of time. And all this happened under the auspices of dementia and courage.

“The plate! “I thought. “Take the cocktails on the plate and they will freeze.”

The plate. The gas. The cocktails were deadly frozen to a faisan plate.

Consequently, after a few seconds of such searches, the plate cracked exactly in half... with still frozen cocklets on each side.

Time was getting less and less.

“The hot water! »

And now, dear friends, let’s think together what can happen if you pour hot water into the boilers.

Enclosed by a traffic jams, in which, in warm water, float broken into the farce coatlets.

“That is blind! ! to They need to be blinded back. ! to »

My childhood brain guessed taking a little flour to blind them back was easier. But here is the problem: after their reincarnation, the coclets still did not want to keep their shape.

I stuck them in the freezer and locked the maximum freeze. Just a few minutes later, a new plate with puddles, slightly covered with a layer of inguinum, appeared on the kitchen table.

“If I had really got them sooner, I would have melted up,” I thought and went for the hairdresser.

And here, I, in my red-and-white-pointed dress, stand in the kitchen and lovefully warm the coatlets with a hair dryer.

A bell at the door.

I, moving my little legs as quickly as possible, run with the dryer toward the bathroom, clamp it in the box and clean it on the shelf, where it has a place.

“Mom, hello... »

My mother never knew about my adventure, but insulted me for the broken (ha-ha) plate.

A few days later she called me and asked me a very compromising question:

Why do we have a fan in farce?