I was 16 years old then. On the eve of Easter, my father went to work at night and asked me to paint eggs. I have never done this before and decided to look at the online instruction. The instructions were approximately as follows: “Driven the paint in the glass, drop the eggs there, wait five minutes, ready.”

Having done everything clearly by points, having laid the colorful eggs around the cushion, I went to bed proud of myself.

In the morning, the father returns, calls to the table, we beat eggs on each other and one is scattered. When my father asked me, “Did you cook the eggs?” I replied, “No, it wasn’t in the instructions.”