It was a long time ago, when the sun shone brighter, the dollar was cheaper, and the bald grandfather was younger, and carried the suitcase after his father's horse.
So, my sister decided to divorce the chickens, the chickens there and all the business... she did what she had planned, and then her husband's trip to Finland was organized.
The chickens were left to our care.
My mom honestly took the chicken gifts in the morning, and in order not to be confused on each wrote a date, a flommaster.
And then we decided to visit our sister and see how the bourgeois are rotten there. It was said - done, they threw the proceeds into the car, and went to the border.
Mommy didn’t allow us to put a box with eggs, because they probably don’t have that. I was not mistaken!
When we passed through our customs, and stood in line on the Finca, I read that almost all products were prohibited, including the box that we brought as a gift.
I think they will find it, they will take it. and wrong.
I was wrong, in part. A box with eggs, of course, the finish found, because we did not hide especially. There is no place, and there is no experience :) I opened and looked stupidly at the rows of eggs, on each of which a date was applied.
A little meditating, he asked, “Is that something?”? to
I answered the eggs.
What are these numbers?
This is birthday.
Who is Fash?
No, the eggs
Finn fell into full space, you could see his eyes. He closed the box and said “go through.”
I think he thought of the frog Russians who write his birthday on every egg.