In my family, all women were craftsmen. The grandmother shaved her five children, her aunt's clothes were in quality unlike those made on a cloth, and the grandmother, having graduated from the Textile Institute, taught in the technical school clothing modeling and even wrote a textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textile textiles. And of course, they all wanted, like good fairies, to reward their favorite (i.e. me) with this gift of handicraft. I think I had a genetic failure. How I hated putting socks on a spoonful and sewing collars to school uniforms! The crosses on the heels lay curved, the sewn buttons flew off the same day, and the sewing machine probably wanted to get out of the window every time I approached it.

The grandmothers said, “Nobody will marry you, such an inconvenience!!!” But, strangely enough, I got married quite early, and still here; apparently, other scales overwhelmed...

But once in my life I was ashamed of my handshake. The little son was given a tail in the Aikido club, and she had to be tailed to the belt, which I did, scattering all the fingers.

Back the next day from training, the son said:

The coach asked, “Who has so terribly wronged the squid?” My mother did not betray you. He said himself.