A joint bathroom, between the bathroom and the toilet is a working washing machine. My wife is sitting, sorry, on the toilet, and I am standing with one leg in the bath, where the water is getting. We talk. I rely on the laundry machine and I get a little struggling. I naturally jump away from her, but the fist is gone. And here I look at my wife’s foot just pressed to the washing machine... And I shouted “Pica-pica-chou!” and slightly ticked her finger. Struggled...