When I was a kid, I didn’t like soup. Lunch turned into torture and stretched for several hours. In order to spend time, I carefully studied the surrounding objects.



One day I read the inscription on a pack of salt. At that moment there was a movie on television about D'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers, and it seemed logical to me that the name of the salt was very French - POLESSE. There was even an elderly count who owned salt mines instead of vineyards. The grandchildren of the Count were presented, talking in the estate of Polesie behind a bowl of Burgundy about the prices of salt. Every time I looked at the package, I imagined the emblem of the French Count and my proud surname.



The reality stumbled completely unnoticed, I was sent for salt. I stretched out the money and proudly announced what I wanted, say, not any widebody, I will take a French delicatesse. The seller pulled out the package and repaired:

and polish. It is in Belarus.

It was the first import replacement in my life.