I never thought I would get into such a situation. I have already written that clients try not to eat or drink (sometimes me! work to be done). And now, probably, from the raised water and then I'll shrink.

In general, the situation is normal - I come to the house to put the boy sounds. The family is new, cockroaches in the heads of people unknown yet. While my pupil was running (to change clothes, to find one pupil, to find another pupil, to chew a cat, to write, to hide a toy, to get a toy), at this time I split up, sat in the kitchen, washed my hands, and the pupil was left to sit down. Here floats his gently smiling grandmother, holding a glass in her hands:

Take care, it is for you.

“Thank you,” I said, “What is it?

And you try.

I put a glass on my face and I feel amber. No, not so though. I feel the hell with a specific shade of acetone. I am pale, green, and I understand that I am about to say goodbye to lunch in the eyes of amazed customers, and I am throwing the glass back to the old lady. But she does not take him! He pushes my hands back:

Do you try! The Fresh! This is very useful! I drink every day.

I try to hide behind the chair, under the canvas, behind the wallpaper, anywhere! I go and put a glass on the kitchen table. I ask :

and v. Does he drink that too?

“Neee, he’s a little bit dirty, so we can’t drink yet. But I will pour him into the soup for a drop, and he will get used to it. So you drink! It is fresh!

A happy child goes to the kitchen, leads his nose and gives:

Fou, grandmother, you’re cooking your notes again! I already wrote in the toilet.



The fucking. I was mentally shot at this place.