I raise two daughters. Alone with no mother. Since they were sick with everything they could, they were used to dealing with all kinds of girl's problems. Yesterday the younger came from school and complained:
Dad, I’m scratching there! And wet for some reason. The eyes are big, scared.
I also have big, but scratched ones. The elderly are the same. Why is the younger almost in the rift:
Dad, am I really sick?! to
The old man is frightened:
Is it contagious?! to
Oh my God, what hard work I shouldn’t have done!!! Comforted...
Although the desire to tear away all the talk of a puddle did not disappear.