At night, a drunk man went for cigarettes and disappeared. Called friends, hospitals, police, morgi. No one saw. In horror it seemed that he was killed lying in the bushes. Then panic - how can I be alone with two children? Well, okay, I sell the car, I give away the second apartment, I exchange my own for two and I also give away, plus a pension for the loss of a feeder... And everything was so well planned that when he returned after three hours alive, I even got a little upset...

Previously I thought: how people lived at thirty-seven, did they not notice anything? Now I know how.

I went for a visa to the British Embassy. There was a crowd of people who were rejected for various reasons. I go to the interview window. In English, the charming lady, looking with English kindness, pressing her lips, asked, "Do you speak English?" I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sometimes.” Widely opened eyes, then rust - and a visa.

In short, he went into the woods, gathered mushrooms, gathered a calf, sat down for a couple of years. I went out, and I’ve got my puppets in the yard. He left for life.

Xxx: Well, I’m 27 and I’ve never fucked at all, all my knowledge is pure theory and a mushroom on my palm. And the only advice from a friend is to feel.

Yyy: When I read this, I want to be a good fool and give good boys to virgins, lol

Zzz: God bless you

Despite the unwelcome attitude of many countries, we will still build a gas pipeline and defend our right to be a raw material appendix of Europe!

Non-trivial meth

I bought self-tapping wallpapers. I sit. I wait.

My mother liked to joke, in any cold she said, "I will die, all my you will get... take care of daddy and brother" and watched my reaction, I trembled, presenting her in the grave, and crying in the pillow at night. At the age of 6 developed a real neurosis, then panic attacks and enuresis, I was terribly afraid to lose it. The fear of my own death and my loved ones has persecuted me for more than 35 years. This fear plunges suddenly and enters the soul with cold nails, it becomes difficult to breathe and tears suffocate... Psychotherapy has helped little. Why so ridicule the child’s psyche, for the sake of their own fun, or what moms would make sure that it is “god-making”, self-esteem scratching about the child’s soul?



yyy: My mother-in-law shared with me how to teach children to be independent. She went to bed for a break and told her sons that it was just an examination. Then she came, walking sad, sinking, abandoned. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for three days. The children got married (10 and 8 years old) and the mother decided to reveal to them the mystery of her mother’s cancer and she would soon die and her only wish was that the sons would become independent and could cook/wipe/cleaning themselves, etc. For two months she played this show and then suddenly recovered.

As a result, one has a painful fear of losing his mother and an aversion to cleaning, the other has a distrust of his mother, but independent, it is.

I honestly didn’t believe this, but the two sons of the mother-in-law confirmed it.

When I was in second grade (1988), a classmate instructed me that stealing a bakery for 3 cents, in a gastronomy, is a pledge. There were no surveillance cameras at the time, as did the guards. And the fucking fuck me to spit that baking cake. I didn’t have three copies. There were much more.

I waited for two days until they came from the police. Of course, no one came after me. But I, tormented by my conscience, three days later, silently put 20 copies on the bench. I could buy ice cream. But getting rid of the pain of conscience is more expensive.

In the 11th grade at the last lessons of physics, when the course of the textbook was already passed, but to let us walk through the school the teacher could not - she taught us life.. I remember how she told how to monitor the location of the planets, and that there is such a special location of the planets, these days you must definitely guess a wish and it will definitely come true...

And she also taught us girls that when we get married - we must definitely burn our husband's pants / shirt... and then he no longer entrust us to smooth anything... Otherwise we will have to smooth our husband's clothes for the rest of our lives... It was very strange to hear all this from the mouths of a physics teacher... in addition, our physical education teacher was her husband.

If a person is satisfied with everything, it means that he is no longer poured.

My teachers at high school were people about my current age. The elderly. The elderly. Their youth was in war. I am so clever and can count years. And then, in the seventies, I didn’t even think about the fact that the partorg of the school of Rimma Mikhailovna with her assy waist, sad eyes and shoes on spikes and the Olympiad Andreevna, my teacher of literature with a flowery shining, like a bird nest on her head, could participate in the war just as the frontman director of the school, a historian. During the ambulance, a portrait of Lenin fell on him. He gradually stumbled. Starting with lily. Lenin said nothing. Actually, I don’t remember anything about the director. And not about him.

Olympiad Andreevna was my class leader and teacher of Russian language and literature. Time lightened her eyes to the steel, and her hair laid in a funny, thin shining on the back of her head. Andrievna’s Olympiad was slightly sluggish, slightly above the third class, but every pupil of my school, having seen from a distance her silhouette with a whitening in her teeth, slowed down and marched like the field Marshal Zhukov:
Welcome to the Olympics of Andreevna!

Olympiad Andreevna created in my school the museum "Buchenwald, your heroes talk about you". On May 9, he opened the doors to first-class students. Imagine black satin-strung walls with photographs of the Buchenwald horrors, hanging windows, the dim light of wall lamps. The little girl stumbled and stopped cuddling at the entrance. Andreevna’s Olympics included a magnetophone, and we, the high school girls, learned to take pictures and tell the kids about Buchenwald.

After such an entry, it would be appropriate to note that every future criminal who had undergone such hardening, smashing, considered the Olympiad Andreevna an authority in our district, which was disadvantaged in all respects, and at its literature lessons he sat like a silk, bitten a pencil, covered with steam and plunged something non-memberly on the question of Chatsky, for what (for presence!) I got a deserved trio.

In the graduation class we had a new one. Red as the fire of Alka from Poltava. Smooth and sharp on the tongue. And at the first lesson on "Groze" Ostrovsky stretched his hand. I disagree with the benevolent. The bell ringed and Alkin’s voice spread through Buchenwald. What a lie? Catherine descends from the abyss into the river, and she is "a ray of light in the dark kingdom"?? to

I pulled my hand to the textbook. Rinka, a party neighbor, raised her head trying to see O.A.’s attitude. what is happening in her eyes. And the Olympiad Andreevna, inviting Alka to the board with a broad gesture, went back to the back.

Give up! She just said.

And more we did not hear her during the lesson, absorbed by the dispute on the subject, what is more important, no, what is more correct - to be able to stay with a loved one or drown from thirst and hopelessness. Even the twins said something. We burst like spring streams. And Olympiad Andreevna was sitting on the back, laying her head on her arms... and her glowing eyes shone with quiet happiness.

When the phone sounded, she said:

Thanks to everyone! This is the dream of any teacher of literature. But there are five!

Why is it five? She is thinking wrong! Not as in the textbook. We have stumbled.

That’s why she has five. Growing up, you will understand.

P.s. Thank you for the Olympics. I’m “grown up” and I think now: God, what a teacher we had!

– Katya, did you have someone before me?
“Sasha, are you a fool? Look at the clock. 5 in the morning. They still sleep!

The beginning of zero, I am 5-6 years old. I go to the bar and ask for fireworks.

Children’s fireworks are not toys. The seller responds.

Give me a lighter.

Here is hold. So much of you.

After removing the light bulb, I still thought for a long time, what is the fundamental difference between the light bulb and the light bulb? And why can I arrange, in her opinion, the end of the world with the help of the light bulbs, but not with the help of the light bulb? I still do not know the answer.

30,000 new churches built over the past 30 years and one semi-unconstructed cosmodrome. Yuri Gagarin would be surprised.

But we are still alive – those who have heard the stories of their grandmothers who survived the war.
Here is one of those stories.
We went to give bread. It was autumn and I came home late. I come home and I hear them crying. I heard the heart trouble. Neighbors and neighbors are crying, crying. Without words I understood: my dead. But I do not want to believe. I cannot! I am being informed of his death. She took him in her hands, her legs crashed, fell. When she recovered, the neighbor said, "Your at least had time to send a message before he died. And my unknowledge disappeared...” – “What news?” I ask. She gives me a letter "Together with the notification came! Now read it, do not read it, it will not be resurrected.” I began to read the letter... and joy! He is alive!
My grandmother kept this letter as holy. I read him. It says that the entire company, where my grandfather was, was killed in the attack. And he, wounded, lost consciousness, lay until night, and then, coming to himself, popped in the rear and stumbled upon our spies, who brought him to the sanatorium. There he met with the staff writer, who informed him that notifications about the death of the entire staff of the company had already been sent. “Don’t believe the news,” the grandfather wrote. I am alive, I am alive! This letter I write after the notification of my death was sent. I am alive! I’ll come back, I’ll definitely come back...”

Even if you do not know about the author of Perro, it is easy to guess that "Red Hat" is a foreign fairy tale. We usually go with cakes from grandmother, not to her.

The southerner the Russian region, the stronger the economy there tries to stay in the shadow.

I am on vacation. After passing the registration, I approached the plane, and now together with everyone I climb the stairs. When I entered, I found that I was in a trap. Most sit in chairs, and some whose seats are closer to the tail, stand in the passage. I don’t know the reason, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it happens. Behind me, some aunt is loudly outraged, which is quite fair. She demandingly knocks me in the back, and loudly demands to pass, not to stand like a buried. I turn to her and with the utmost kindness, I propose to go ahead of me. I will wait. There was a loud laugh among the passengers. For the first time I saw a woman silently red, out of anger, but can say nothing.