One day a distant relative came to visit us. The Far Parent was one of those men who accompany any phrase with a meaningful smile, and talk to children as if before them very stupid adults.

At the table, my brother pulled for sugar, and a distant relative moved the sugar bar. “Thank you,” said Mishka politely. He was four years old, and he had just mastered a great power of gratitude.

"Thank you for the bread you will not smell, and you will not put it in your pocket."

The mouse was confused and frozen. A distant relative smiled and continued to drink tea.

In principle, I can easily imagine what was going on in my four-year-old brother’s head. Particularly well this became clear after the fact, when the Far Parent began to gather to leave, and in the pocket of the coat found a packet of melting butter.

My father was so upset that his relatives were upset. And more seemed not to come to us. And then my mom said with a breath that it could be limited to a quarter of the package. Maximum of half.
by eilin-o-connor