Today he bakes in the summer, so at the end of the run he pulled off the wind, remaining in the maid. I approach my entrance, and from there comes out a neighbor with a baby three or four years old. The girl looked at me and said to her mother:

Look at the dressed man!

Not my uncle, but my uncle, teaches my mother.

“No,” said the girl, “I only have one uncle, Uncle Mish, and the other uncles.

“You still need to say uncle, and ‘uncle’ is uncultural,” Mother objects.

“No, mom, all the relatives are uncles, and the rest are uncles, even Dima from your work, who comes to visit us! She reveals all the secrets of the girl.

I say goodbye to the woman and go into the entrance, and I hear a voice from the closed door:

Don’t tell anyone about Uncle Dime anymore.