Today I remember a childhood story. Once our mother went on a business trip, leaving the care and supervision for me and my little sister to my dad. Taking my sister from the kindergarten, I got a task from the teacher to make for the extraordinary morning a mattress suit for my sister, details about the purpose of the suit I either missed past my ears, or not correctly brought the info to the bat. As a result, the dad began to disappear in the workshop room and a few days later showed the world THIS. Imagine a mattress, cut off the foundation on which it stands and cut a hole in the place of the face. It was made of a mattress, according to me, of papie mache. Extremely proud of himself, the father through the lower hole put this scapander on his sister and ordered to paint this shit under the mattress itself. The child cried, as it turned out that the costume was needed for the mattress dance, for which their group had been preparing for a long time, and the girls needed to dress in bright sweaters and shirts and paint their cheeks with red circles. I was hysterically rotting, depicting the painting of dance - beautiful girls run out under the backdrop music, and after them they are wrapped - poorly oriented in space (the review of the costume was so-called), without arms (the father did not provide holes for them, which is logical - the mattress has no arms), periodically falling, and not having the opportunity to get up (to try to get up when your legs below your knee are "bound" and your arms are not). As a result, instead of this non-conformist creation, it was necessary to quickly build a mainstream costume from a sweater and t-shirt, the child performed perfectly, the mother who returned under the wild rust almost for the first time explained "what it is and why it is for us", plus the work was not gone in vain - at NH the sister was wearing this costume, frightening guests and neighbors).