In life it is not like in a fairy tale: from beautiful cockroaches grow ugly swanks.

My parents had friends: a complex family, with a walking intellectual husband and a botanical son, Zeney. Zhenya was tall, with large teeth and huge square glasses. Once my mom asked me to "friend with my wife", or the boy is very bad with communication in school. “Of course, mom,” I replied, and this family came to visit us again, and I took Zhenya to the landfill. At the beginning of the 90s, entertainment is relevant. I had a car battery on the landfill. I planned to break it, and out of the aluminum plates to spit a mini bull on a chain. The chain had a dual purpose: to walk the dog, and also to light it in those moments when the thing smelled of petroleum. We discharged this battery, got the plates, in the process of which everything got the electrolyte, for which I got it separately. I look at these plates and think about what shape to pour in the sand. Jennie looked at me kindly and with interest. “Let’s make loads of loads,” I concluded, not to scare Zhenu. I pressed the molds in the wet sand, found the straw, fire, heated, I carefully poured it into the mold, smoothed the edges with water and we have two careful molds. Jenny was in ecstasy. He liked such a simple and exciting process of creation. “Can we cast... the castle?” asked Zhenya. I was a little overwhelmed by his crap. I turned the “design” in my head, as if it should be enough material. “Well,” I replied with no enthusiasm, “the production process has started again, the shape is bigger, we are sitting on top of it. Zhenya himself poured it out of the straw, took a bottle of water and splashed half straight into the shape, into boiling aluminum. I was lucky that I managed to get stuck. The coating, cotton, explosion and all the aluminum layered flatly on everything around, including shoes, ropes, clothes, partly hands and on the Bride's glasses. I was hurt, a couple of large drops fell on the eyelids and cheek, and glued. I was more surprised by the woman’s reaction. He whispered loudly, and said, “Let’s go again!” looking at me through his glasses, which from dioptrical almost turned into mirror aviators. When we came home and stood before our parents, they didn’t even know where to start and how to ask the right questions. The sleeves of our sweaters were consumed with electrolytes, and the pants, shoes and partially the faces were in "silver" as my mom thought at first. Jenny took the initiative into his own hands. His wildly wide smile had not gone from his face since the explosion. He resolutely approached his mother and with a happy voice reposted: "We spilled me a real castet, but it exploded," turned to his father and asked, "Dad, can I take the old battery from the garage?" We should pay tribute to his parents, but we did not stop communicating after that. After our fun his shoes and pants became the object of envy of classmates. The story of the “explosion of the castet” changed the layout of forces and authorities in the school and Zhenya instantly became a “huligan”. But the genes have taken their way and now Zhenya teaches at the University, although I am sure that his self-esteem and the scale of madness have greatly increased after our experiments.

One girl saw a teacher’s salary and became a prostitute.