A large swarm near the sarai, where we had snows from the yard all the winter, did not melt before the May holidays.
On a hot spring day, playing in the courtyard, I noticed a traffic jamming from a melting swarm. He pulled and pulled out a whole, untouched bottle of vodka.
Nothing surprising was this, the father sometimes on the way home hid his ass in such a way that there was something to heal in the morning.
I picked up the bottle and joyfully ran into the house.
and Dad! and Dad! Look what I found!
Oh you are! – said the father, and clarified, looking at the label. Where are you?
and there! In the shrine of Sarai!
The mother, who was sitting in the room and stuffing something, was unhappy with the topic of "alcoholics who will hide, and they themselves do not remember where they hid." Nothing good was predicted.
Meanwhile, the father opened the bottle, smelled, made a swallow straight out of his throat, and suddenly splashed.
The water! He said confused.
The water? My mother questioned suspiciously.
Well the sticks! My father broke. I'm glad I'll have something to drink after the bath!
- To you, alcoholics, what a bath, not a bath, just a reason! My mother burst. Where is the water from? Was it exhausted?
Under the blockade? No, it should not. The Father said.
He again thoughtfully smelled out of the bottle, and suddenly said.
Look, what is the number?
My mother raised her eyes to the calendar.
It was April 1st in the morning.
Well then I understand! He stumbled on his father’s forehead. His father’s son played. The young man! And the traffic jamming, most importantly, how clever it was, I didn’t even notice.
He approached his mother and threw her bottle throat under her nose.
If you don’t believe it, smell it yourself.
It is to the corpse! Mother is out. Smell any other infection.
Her mood clearly improved. She laughed, stood up, opened the closet, took the chocolate from the top shelf hidden for this occasion, and handed me the words.
The boy, the boy! We need these alcoholics!
And the upset father went to the kitchen, and demonstrately poured the contents of the bottle into the dishwasher. His mother watched the process on his shoulder.
The most important thing is the vodka of Yaroslavl. My mother showed me the label. We didn’t sell this time!
He breathed out again, threatened me with a finger, and placed an empty bottle at half a dozen of them in the corner.

However, from the bath, the father returned unusually cheerful and conversational.
I found it somewhere! My mother was surprised.
What a man will not find after a bath drink! My father laughed, looked at me, and suddenly blinked. This is not Christian!
My mother responded with her hand on him.

And for me it remained a mystery how cleverly and at what moment my father tricked to replace the bottle I found in the shed with a bottle of water, which he poured into the dishwasher.
I didn’t ask, and now I don’t know who.