In our dormitory there was a tragedy. He has a mother who loves him very much. He married one girl and they lived together. My mother didn't like her niece, as it often happens, but she was patient until the time. Until her son came to her somehow home in new fashionable jeans, with holes. The student went to bed and woke up to know that his mother was talking on the phone with his wife. She accused her that she had brought him to the last limit, that she was a damn white-handed woman and would destroy her son. On my mother’s knees were the boy’s jeans, with carefully carved holes. Where the holes were too serious, they were tailored in a closely colored material – my mom’s blue coat with cuddly tiny roses. On the cheeks of the old lady flowed tears of anger and despair, and the good mother's hands affectionately felt the repaired pants.