When I was 15 years old, a neighbor came to visit us. We sat down, we drank tea, and she began to complain to her husband that she started drinking, quietly, she noticed that the guilt of the household became much less. My mother, a fan of joke, came up with such a plan, "revenge": in the box where there was wine, put a large drawing of the dule.

I painted the doula, it came out to me very picturesque. We were so cuddling, just waiting for him to open the closet, and there was a douleur. What kind of face will he have. The neighbor put a drawing and cleaned the wine.

Further silence, a week, two, a neighbor says that the husband is frozen, did not show, is silent. We don’t ask for wine...we have forgotten this story.

20 years have passed. I sat in a cafe with the daughter of the same neighbor who was visiting us at the time. I remembered and told her the story of her father, as we painted him. I realize that my friend’s expression has changed. And here is the end of our joke... It turns out it was she, drinking wine, (she was 13 years old, no one could think of her, an outstanding woman) and she saw the same joke, and her father was not at business at all. It turns out we thought so about the man!