Salad of Mimosa

Morning on March 9. Slowly and carefully, in one hand the head, in the other
liver, slide to the refrigerator, pour something into boiling tubes. The refrigerator
It is filled with the remains of yesterday’s feast. The path to beer
In the middle of the refrigerator is a whole untouched salad "Mimoza".

The poor mother! I look at the salad.

The story of the question is so.

One day, on March 8, a wonderful woman, Elena Ivanovna, gave birth to another child.
A wonderful woman who later became my wife. and here
For many years now, once a year, on the eve of March 8,
Elena Ivanovna arrives from her Tyumen on the birthday of her daughter. and
make this foolish salad that nobody needs and who
The neighboring homeless cats are eaten with gratitude. Nothing else
In my memory, she never cooked. Looking at this, it is created
the impression that the salad "Mimoza" in Tyumen is a national dish, and they are there
They only eat them.

There is another item in Elena Ivanovna, which along with the salad
“Mimoza” is an indispensable attribute of our annual March
The sitting. Maybe the doctors know his exact name, and I'll explain how.
I can. The middle-aged lady Elena Ivanovna has nothing yet.
A perfectly healthy body, designed for at least a hundred years
The full exploitation. But every time at a certain point,
After drinking, she begins to sing the same grim song about what before.
The next day my daughter will not live. Where she got that, I don’t know.
This is a point. She begins to say goodbye to everyone, everyone.
to forgive, make a will, and so on. Tears, swears and excuses. Same
It does not affect the mood of the guests.
The atmosphere of celebration. And nothing would be like that, accustomed, if few have anything,
Family affairs. But this is a boring self-song, like the salad “Mimoza”,
It happens regularly once a year for a couple of decades.
On the International Women’s Birthday of My Unseen. Yes is.

Agree, once a year can be tolerated, on one side.
But on the other hand, dear comrades, twenty years! and how much
still ahead? It is not so much the scenery itself as it is.
Her expectation and inevitability ruin the solemnity of the moment.

Okay well. What to complain? This is my cross, as the heroine said.
A famous film. Oh by the way. Something I won’t remember yesterday.
The traditional exhibition. Trying to strain the mind does not cause anything.
Except for Ikea. In the memory of yesterday's night there is a big black sky.
The Hole. The last thing I remember is my toast "For our health"
Dear Mother, Elena Ivanovna “Good means I gave it yesterday. Well maybe
It’s the best I don’t remember. A glass of beer illuminates yesterday’s day.
The past?

exactly! I get out of the refrigerator a batch with "Mimoza", to get to it.
And suddenly, with interest, I find it already very well-ventilated.
The surface of the salad has a clear fingerprint of the face. Do you imagine? Very clear and
Very high-quality human face blindness on yellow ventilated
Surface of salad. Apparently my face. Without any options. More of
Like no one’s face from yesterday’s presence should be there.
Yes, before the state of the mouth in the salad I have not yet been able to drink.
But someday we have to start. Let us treat everything philosophically.

Poor Yuri! - Hamletovsky undercovering the cowards and extending before
a plate with a salad and a blindness of his own mouth, a tragic voice
I say I.

What a lawyer? What is this about Yuri? A bad voice from the door.
The Wives.

... is it you? Yes, that’s me... Listen, I’m showing her a badge, I’m what,
I fell asleep in the salad yesterday, right?

The fool! His wife whispered tragically. This is my death mask.
The Mom! Do you remember anything?

I move my head negatively. And she restores a canva in my head.
events, intersecting the storytelling of illusory, but quite traditional
emails to my address.

It turns out, after I raised "for the health of dear Helena"
The second part of the compulsory program under
“Oh, I won’t live until the next birthday!”
the associated attribute. This is when everything is traditional.
I began to wander and persuade Elena Ivanovna to live a little longer.
quietly stood up, took a plate with no one's untouched salad "Mimoza", this
a work of art of the Tyumen cookers, quietly approached to the aunt and
With the words “Dear Elena Ivanovna, for a moment!” he gently mocked her.
Face in the salad. Then showed a great, by the way, result.
He was surprised and said, “Blind. for the monument. for every
The case.”

I'm glad I don't remember what happened afterwards. Thank God the plane.
Tess was at night. She flew safely, saving me for a whole year.
You need to go straight in the kitchen, with a salad in your hands, take and burn it.
of shame.

What did she say? I asked suspiciously.
A well-meaning wife

She was deceived first, of course. Everyone is deceived. Then he says, “No
You will wait! I will survive all of you!” Soon I sang, O Rabbi.
The Russian folk song "Oi Rabiina Kudrava"
The aunt usually finished her panigyric, after which everyone could
You know, you seem to have cured her.

Give it God! – with hope said I, finally reaching to the hardship c
Brew the beer and suck the contents with one garlic. Ohhhhhhhh! Another
March 8 ended safely.

The salad "Mimoza" I traditionally brought to the laundry for the joy of courtyard cats.
With a valuable profile. With the words:
Do not need us. Long live another 100 years, dear Elena Ivanovna.