On the wave of posts about school interruptions. One day, a friend and I talked about the school past, and she tells me so eagerly:

- In our boys several girls in the sixth-seventh grade were constantly striking the shirts, then all kinds of places were touched. I had dreamed that if I were in their place, I would smell eggs for such things. Well, or at least a heels with the whole foot or bone of the ankle.

and breath.

But for some reason no one touched me.