Once a long time ago, a drunken husband stumbled on me, as it is, and turned to my mother. He did not find his favorite shirt (they are all his favourites, but most of all those he can’t find) thrown into the laundry.
He came and sadly asked:
Did you give my favorite shirt to my lover?
Then he was completely upset and fell to sleep.
In the morning I washed, the shirt hangs, dried up. Take, I say, I’ll smooth out and boil to my mom.
He started looking for the washed socks.
As always, a couple is missing.
Where is my favorite socks?! to
I gave her lover.
and pause.
Do you have a single leg?