Workers and Collectors

This is a story of great love and that in the present gift, the main thing is not the cost, but the spiritual work of the donor. You can, for example, give a person a hundred rubles and offend the insignificance of the sum, and you can and vice versa, I was given only twenty copies for my birthday, and at the same time I jumped to the ceiling from the inflated pleasure. The two-wheeled, however, is not simple, but my peer, born in 1967, with the cruiser "Aurora", the coat of arms and all affairs.

But I will no longer test your patience and go to the story itself.

On the weekend, I went to a wedding with old friends and not to a simple wedding, but to a porcelain.
The guests were a man of forty, all honorable and noble, gave mostly porcelain.
I also handed a large porcelain soup, in short, did not lag behind the collective, and late in the evening came, finally, the fifteen-year-old son of the "newlyweds".
He entered the hall, hiding his hands behind his back and a little embarrassed, burned out from the threshold:
“Mom, Dad, I congratulate you on the 20th anniversary of your wedding, live long and happy. Let this gift remind you of what... how... well, in short, here.
And he pulled out from behind his back a small porcelain statue "Workers and the Collective Farm", and on the serpent near the Collective Farm hanged a small cellophane bag with pumpkin seeds.
The guests joked: - "How cute", "That's also fun" "It doesn't matter - what to give, the main thing is to porcelain" "Bite, collective farmers seeds and don't refuse anything to yourself"
And suddenly everyone noticed that the culprits of the celebration hugged and naturally cried, even the one-hundred-pound "bridegroom" teared, and he was a Colonel of the Emergency Ministry, among other things.
There was silence, and the father of the family, wiping the red eyes with his hairy hand, smiled and said:
Thank you, I did not expect. I rejoiced, so I rejoiced.
Dear guests, if anyone doesn’t know, I’ll tell you this story:
Some hundred years ago, I fell from a motorcycle and broke my arm in several places.
Everything is fine, I am recovered, I am lying in the hospital, I miss it.
One day I went out for a walk in the kindergarten - summer, heat, I was in shorts, in a jacket and plaster.
Suddenly I see - a cute girl at the urn stands and self-forgottenly grows the seeds from a large package. The girl’s hand is also in the plaster, but only I have the right hand, and she has the left.
So she puts her whole head in the bag and dive, grabs the seed, grinds and splashes into the urn. Like a pigeon.
I admired this painting, and here, apparently, smoothed - her bag broke in the seam and it all dried up.
And I am a life savior, though with a broken arm, but a savior. He jumped up and quickly attached to her healthy right hand, his healthy left, a quite spacious cradle. So together we went through the whole courtyard into the chamber, as a worker and a collective. Everyone is smiling around, and we go very carefully so that the seeds do not spread.
It’s been twenty years and we’re going...