When I studied in primary classes (1990-1992) My grandmother gave me morse in a bottle of 0.5. But as it often happened then, I was picked up by the boys from 5-6th classes. There was no point in getting rid of them – they would have drowned the mass. I endured half a year. Then came the thought.

One day, the morse was drunk at home, and instead a solution of manganese was poured. The same day, the same guys successfully took him away. I was not against. In four bars they all drank. It’s now I understand that I’d drink two bars less – trouble. But then I was filled with such a pleasant feeling of revenge that for the rest of my life. I thought it was necessary to add more sugar, or fire, almost burned.

They were then washed their stomachs. Parents to school. The scandal. I got such lilies from my father and grandfather that I still scratch. Since then, no one has ever touched my food.