knock at the door. I open. The smell of many days. A neighbor on the doorstep:
Do you have a device to measure pressure? I don’t know if something is wrong with me...

The crime was committed by a group of persons of a nationality prohibited for publication in the Russian Federation.

I met a man a little older than me. He looked at me when his dog was walking out. I was thirty-nine years old, but the acquaintance with Botox, the gym and beautiful dresses sometimes caused men to want to meet. We walked with him on our shore. They talked a lot, the man told stories about his life and even read poems. I listened to everything he told me, and on the third date I asked him, “Did you sit in jail?” What happened to him: he stumbled, his face crushed, he was terribly upset. He asked me, “Well, how did you guess? I watch the speech, and I have no words in prison.” He said that in his youth he sat for four years, for theft at the dachas. And all, the man is missing. Then he called me, he was drunk. I did not call him, of course.

It was not difficult to guess. We met and he told me what he was doing in the day, for example, "Today I was on the beach, I look at two mints there." “I went to the store today and met mints at the entrance.” And so three, four times. It seemed strange to me, for example, I don’t notice the police at all, I never see them anywhere. People see them around. I thought he was sitting. He sees policemen around him, sees enemies in them. However, a forty-year-old woman already notices too much unlike a young girl.

For some reason, almost all modern advertising characters want to be sent to a comprehensive medical examination, starting with a psychiatrist.

Case of Prokofiev

Sergei Prokofiev died on the same day as Stalin on March 5, 1953. The death of the “leader of the peoples” overshadowed the departure of the musician. Everyone who wanted to say goodbye to him went to the House of Composers, where a civil panic took place, with room flowers in pots: there were simply no others - everyone "raised" Stalin. Next to the tomb stood the sad and humble Mira Mendelssohn, a widow.

At the same time, another widow of Prokofiev - the son-in-law of Lina Lubera - used to push a barrel of wipes in a women's camp in the village of Abez. And knowing nothing about the death of the man she loved most in the world.
For a long time this name - Caroline Codine-Luber - was not in any biography of Prokofiev. It would not be appropriate for one of the most famous Soviet composers, the six-time winner of the Stalin Prize, to have a foreign wife. Meanwhile, it was with this fragile Spanish woman, in which there was a lot of "enemy" blood - Polish, French and Catalan - Sergei Prokofiev lived a long 20 happy years. But she was ruthlessly erased first from the composer's life, and then even from the memories of him. They left a place only for the "model" of Mira Mendelssohn: graduates of the literary institute, the Komsomol, the daughter of the "old Bolshevik" Abram Mendelssohn and - according to rumors - the niece of Lazar Kaganovich.

Caroline grew up in a musical family: her father, Juan Codina, was a Spanish singer, and her mother, Olga Nemysskaja, was a Polish singer. And so they followed the musical events of New York, where they moved from Spain. And in 1918, the nail of the music program "Big Apple" was just Prokofiev. He performed in the famous Carnegie Hall. The manner of his performance, his own authorship things excited Olga Nemysskaja, and she literally forced her daughter - a beginner singer - to get to know Prokofiev after the concert.

Lina didn’t want to go behind the scenes too much: yes, she liked his music, but the long-held 27-year-old Russian wasn’t too interested in her. Line was barely 21 years old, but she knew the price: like two drops of water like the star of silent cinema Theresa Brooks, men passing by looked after her for a long time. He spoke five languages and sang very well.
It is clear why she did not want to appear to Prokofiev as one of the enthusiastic fans. But she had to surrender under maternal pressure. Lina wanted to stay unnoticed in the crowd of other ladies, frozen on the threshold. However, Prokofiev immediately identified the black-haired girl and invited her to enter. From that it all started. As he later wrote in his diary, Lina “has struck me with the vividity and glow of her black eyes and some young trembling. In a word, it was the type of Mediterranean beauty that has always attracted me.”
They hadn’t spent a day without each other. Specifically for his Bird - as Prokofiev called Lina - he wrote a cycle of five songs. Then there were other works. And they performed together - the Russian pianist and composer Prokofiev and the Spanish messo-soprano Lubera (as a creative nickname she took the name of the grandmother on the motherline).

During the tour, Caroline learned Russian while playing. And also between tours they managed to get married - on September 20, 1923 in the Bavarian town of Etal. In February 1924, a small Svyatoslav appeared in their family. Four years later, his second son, Oleg. The fragile bird was still accompanied by the eyes of men. Over the years, she has only worn, acquired a loose. For an example of elegance she was held in the musical circles of Paris and London, New York and Milan. Balmont dedicated her poetry, Picasso, Dagilyev and Matisse highly appreciated her style, Stravinsky and Rahmaninov, despite the musical rivalry with Prokofiev, paid tribute to her voice and, most importantly, - the talent to combine three positions together: singer, secular lady and composer wife. As the last, she not only cared about Prokofiev's everyday life, but also engaged in the organization of tours and associated frequent moves, negotiated, translated: She managed everything playing, elegant and beautiful. According to the memories of Prokofiev’s sons, “Mama’s word was decisive.”

When the composer came up with the idea of returning to the USSR after a long 18-year tour, it was the bird that put a point in all these doubts and throws. In his homeland, Prokofiev was promised to write music. In the West, he, like Rahmaninov and Stravinsky, was forced to postpone writing for the sake of performing activity: only in this way he could earn. Lina, who adored her husband, perfectly understood: creativity for him - in the first place. So we have to move.

In 1936, the Prokofiev family returned to the USSR. The children went to an Anglo-American school. Lina blinked at receptions in numerous embassies – she was always in the center of attention. Prokofiev was really allowed to create. True, not long: very soon he was explained what the task of the Soviet composer was. And almost parallel to “Romeo and Juliet” he writes “Lenin’s Cantata”, composes an opera about the Ukrainian colloquium – “Semen Kotko”. And he sees how the circle of his friends rotates – he is arrested, this is missing, this is shot, declared a spy, etc. and so on. But she doesn’t even think about changing: why should she stop communicating with her foreign friends, visiting embassies, writing to mothers to France? What stupidity is this?

In 1938, Prokofiev went to Kislovodsk to rest. And almost in the first letter he read: "Here behind me is a charming Jewish woman, but you do not think of anything bad." And in vain. Prokofiev did not resist the persecution of Mira Mendelssohn. Their holiday romance has grown into a permanent novel. In 1941, the composer left his family. Per if the bird damaged at least one tear, he would have stopped: but that “holds the mark.” She did not like to complain. I could not tolerate the nuts. Looking at Lina, no one could even think of what demons are breaking her soul. Because with the departure of Prokofiev she did not accept for a second, and did not stop loving him for a second.

She loved the composer and Mira is the right girl from the right family. For a long time, Lina was convinced that their break-up was only temporary. She did not accommodate scandals, did not burden with requests. But in a few years
Prokofiev talked about divorce. She stood up on the ass. What was there more, love, wounded pride, or mere fear for the fate of one’s own and children? She entered the USSR as the wife of a Soviet composer. Who will she be after her divorce? A foreign spy? Enemy of the people? Eventually, smart people explained to Prokofiev: marriage with a Spanish woman, registered in Bavaria, in the USSR - invalid. He can marry peacefully. What the composer did on January 15, 1948. A month after the wedding, Cody was arrested as a foreign woman.
He was spy and sentenced to 20 years in camps.

There, she learned about her husband's death - by chance: one of the same prisoners heard on the radio that it sounds like a concert dedicated to the memory of Prokofiev. said to Lina. And then this proud woman cried so much that the guards were forced to release her from work to the bar. She bitterly mourned the man who left her alone with her sons in the most difficult moment, who dropped her on the arbitrary fate, and for whose fault she was in the camps. From Kolyma Lina returned three years after the deaths of Stalin and Prokofiev. And, according to the memories of the contemporaries, two days later, it was again a model of elegance. She declared her rights to the composer’s legacy, and it was here that a spicy circumstance emerged, which in legal practice was called “Prokofiev’s case”: the genius left behind two widows at once. Now that Stalin was gone, the marriage of Prokofiev with Lina again became legal. Lene and her sons had almost all their possessions.

Lena wanted to go to the West. She turned unsuccessfully to Brezhnev, asking her to see her elderly mother. In 1971, her younger son Oleg got permission to go to London for the funeral of his wife-English, who died in Russia from infection with viral hepatitis, and see his daughter from this marriage. Oleg lived and worked in Britain. In 1974, one of Lina’s letters, addressed to the then Chairman of the KGB Yuri Andropov, asking her to leave for a month in Britain to see her son and granddaughter, was answered: three months later she was called from OVIR and that she was granted a three-month visa for a trip to Britain. At that time she was 77 years old. She did not return. But Lina could not be considered a refugee. The Soviet authorities did not want the political scandal that would arise if the widow of the great Prokofiev had sought political asylum in the West. The Soviet embassy in London extended her visa without any problems. In the West, Lina Prokofiev shared her time between London and Paris, where her eldest son and family later moved. She spent a lot of time in the United States and Germany. In London, in 1983, she founded the Sergey Prokofiev Foundation, to which she transferred her extensive archive, including correspondence with her husband. She was invited to prokofiev anniversaries, festivals, concerts. Lina Prokofiev celebrated her last, 91st birthday on October 21, 1988, at the hospital in Bonn, where her sons arrived. She was deadly sick, but lost her champagne. She was transferred to the Winston Churchill Clinic in London, where she died on January 3, 1989.

Records of Lina Lubera's soprano are not preserved. Caroline Codin-Luber lived a long life. At the age of 77, she started her life again. He travelled a lot and raised his grandchildren. But the main thing - she was engaged in the re-release of Prokofiev's musical heritage, did everything so that the name of her great husband was not forgotten in the West. He is truly known, remembered and loved.

– Grandfather, why were the prostitute in the army cancelled?
- Grandson, for a modern recruiter - it is too complicated gadget...

xxx: I went home from work, a friend called, a few minutes of my monologue and attempts to engage the conversation were not crowned. He said he was tired for today, and if she doesn’t want to maintain the dialogue, then I’ll probably turn off.

She hasn’t spoken to me for a week.



YYY: With such shit, the main thing is to be the first. Tip: Lena, did you call me to keep silent on the phone? I worked all day and very tired, and now you call me and I try my best to be positive for You, but apparently you don't need it..." Let her sit down and think what a hate she is.

And yes, you thought right. I have not had sex for a long time.

Once you wake up, you will realize that life has passed.

apples

- Son, buy apples, your own, home, not drip.
It was this “not drippered” and made Alexander stop and turn around. This is what his grandmother always said in a distant childhood: not to spray, but to splash.
“Not spotted,” he said, he approached the bench.
The old lady with a bunch of apples resurrected and said quickly:
- Not drippled, not drippled, from his tree in the garden, this year a apple has been born, like never before. You do not see that they are not as large as the merchandise, but the imports, God knows where, there eat more than apples. And this is ours, the locals, her hands quickly picked up the apples, showing the buyer the goods from all sides. They smell like apples, and they are delicious, you try, try. Here, look, look, - with some enthusiasm continued the grandmother, stretching the apple, on which there was a small brown mark - you see, even the worm eats them, because they are not drip.
Alexander laughed after these words:
Are they all worms?
“No,” the old lady shrugged her hand with an apple, “look, all the whole, this one got, I didn’t take care. Well, the worm also eats, so it is harmless for a person, I say, not drip.
Alexander these apples were not needed for nothing, he simply, passing through the evening market, cut a corner on the way home. But something in the form of this grandmother, in her way of speaking, in her open and blameless gaze, in her way of convincing the worm of the truthfulness of her words resembled his native grandmother. Some, long forgotten, feeling of a warm wave spilled in her chest, and Sasha wanted to do something good for this old lady who was trading at the marketplace. Therefore, without negotiating, he bought two kilograms of these apples, not knowing why, telling him that his son fell ill at home (he is generally poor in health), coughed and his wife was in a position, and that, probably, it would be useful for them not to eat drip apples. In general, not understanding why, Alexander shared with this stranger the most secret that tormented his soul.
The grandmother wept, breathed, nodded her head, saying that now the old are healthier than the young, because, is there food in the cities now? This is a solid chemistry, and the air itself here is heavy and sick. He cried and agreed. When he was about to leave, the grandmother suddenly grabbed him for the hand:
- Listen, come here tomorrow, I will bring you a slice of dried raspberries with sweetened sugar, the first thing from the cold. So I bring you, you come tomorrow.
Alexander went home with the apples and smiled, it was fine in the soul, as in childhood, when the grandmother smooked her head with her shrimped hand and said, "Nothing, Sashok, everything will be fine."
*** by
He did not know his parents of Sasuke. The grandmother said that she didn’t know his father, and the mother... the mother was untrained. As she brought it one day from the city, in a blanket wrapped, so she went back. She promised to take her life as she would, and so she died.
I loved Grandma Sasuke. When she sometimes breathed hard in the winter evenings, recalling her missing daughter, pressing her grandson’s head to the chest, kissing him, he said:
Do not cry, ba. When I grow up, I will never leave you, I will always live with you. Do you believe me?
“I believe, Sasuke, I believe,” Grandma smiled through tears.
When Sasha was twelve years old, her grandmother was gone. So he found himself in the school-internat. Grandma's house was sold by some relatives (that is, when they lived together with grandmother, Sasha thought that they were alone in the white world, and when it came to the inheritance, there were a lot of applicants).
Who lived in a nursery, it is not necessary to tell all the "charms" of staying in such institutions, and who did not live, he will not understand until the end. But Sascha did not break and did not follow the curved path. He served in the army and acquired a profession. He was not lucky with the girls. And although Sasha himself was a tall, athletic, cute guy, all his friends, learning that he was an orphan, quickly disappeared from his horizon. Therefore, when five years ago he accidentally encountered in a supermarket with Svetka (they were raised in the same kindergarten), he was delighted as the most familiar and close person. The light was very pleased to meet. Six months later they got married, a son was born, and now they are expecting a daughter. In other words, life is fine.
*** by
- Light, I bought an apple here for you and Deniska at the marketplace, home, not drip, - I stretched the package to my wife.
The light that grew up from birth in the children's home missed all these epithetes by the ears. She washed the apples, put them in a large plate and put them on the table. Half an hour later, an apple smell came out.
“Listen, what cool apples, and how they smell,” said Light, wrapping them on both cheeks with her son.
So home, not dotted.
That night Alexandra dreamed of a grandmother. She grabbed him on the head, smiled and said something. Sasha couldn’t find out the words, but it wasn’t important, he knew that the grandmother was saying something good, kind, affectionate. From which flowed peace and happiness, forgotten happiness of childhood.
The sound of the alarm interrupted the sleep.
All day at work, Alexander was not on his own. Something bothered, some incomprehensible grief bit the soul, periodically climbed to the throat. Returning home, he caught himself in the thought that he really wanted to see that grandmother with the apples on the market again.
*** by
Evdokia Stepanovna (so called the grandmother who traded apples) walked around the courtyard, breathing hard, wiping away the tears that ran into her eyes. Long ago, her eldest son died in the performance of official duties (he was a firefighter), not even had time to get married, and the youngest daughter, a beautiful and clever woman, when she studied at the institute in the capital, married an African and went into a hot climate, where bananas and pineapples grow. Her deceased husband long busted and cared about it. And she what? She just cried, feeling that she would never see her girl again. So it went. As long as her husband was still alive, she was alive. What to do when life is like that? And as two years ago the husband disappeared, the light in the soul of Evdokia Stepanovna died. She lived more by habit, asking God to take her quickly into the kingdom of peace.
This young man who bought apples yesterday wasted her soul. After all, a stranger at all, and how well he spoke to her, did not go away... Something was in his eyes... some hidden grief, pain, she immediately felt it. Her maternal instinct broke through in the words: "Come here tomorrow, I will bring you a slice of dried raspberries with sweetened sugar, from the cold the first thing. So I’ll bring you, you come tomorrow.”
And right now, wrapping in the newspaper a bowl with raspberries, Evdokia Stepanovna unwillingly smiled, thinking what would be like to seize for this guy and his family. She really wanted to delight a person and, of course, talk a little more like yesterday.
*** by
Yesterday's place behind the shelf was occupied, and Evdokia Stepanovna settled nearby, in the neighboring row. Having laid out a bunch of apples, she focused all her attention on the passing people, so as not to miss it.
People returned massively from work. By this time, Evdokia Stepanovna was finally upset. "Here is the old fool, directed herself, invented... and who to listen to and believe a strange grandmother," she thought annoyingly, and the eyes looked at everything and looked at a familiar silhouette in the crowd.
Alexander yesterday did not give special importance to the words of the grandmother about the lip and raspberries. “These baccarat grandmothers will say what you want, only to sell their goods,” he thought. “Will he really come? It doesn’t look like an experienced, fighting trade. The worm showed... just invented...” he smiled, remembering the face of the grandmother, with what warmth she spoke about the worm. “Oh, what a difference, anyway, I go through the bazar, I look, suddenly it stands.”
Sasha turned to the part of the bazar where the grandmother with apples stood yesterday, went along the shelf, the grandmother is not visible. "Thu, fool, was divorced like a little boy, good that yesterday, with a fool, Svetka did not boast of the promised strawberry." The mood instantly deteriorated, without looking at the sides of Sasha accelerated the step.
“Milok, I’m here, here, standing,” a loud cry came out, and Alexander saw yesterday’s grandmother rushing to him.
She joyfully grabbed him for the elbow, pulled after him and tweeted:
- The place was occupied, I stood next to it, afraid, missed, thought, would you come? I brought it all, and suddenly I didn’t believe my grandmother.
The grandmother was all "tarahtel" and "tarahtel", but Alexander did not listen to the words, he for a moment moved his soul into childhood. This manner of conversation, individual words, expressions, hand movements, a look in which the desire to please a person with his actions was hidden, all this reminded him so much of his native grandmother.
He asked, how much she ought, Evdokia Stepanovna shrugged her hands, saying that it was she who had cooked for herself from her bushes, and it was necessary to take it as a meal. And she also said that her raspberries are not sorted, but also the old one, not so large and beautiful in appearance, but real, odorable and very useful. And Sascha remembered his grandmother's raspberries, her smell and taste, and also for some reason he remembered the potatoes. Yellow inside, it looked so appetizing in the plate, and delicious what. After his grandmother’s death, he never ate such potatoes again.
Do you have yellow potatoes inside? He broke the old lady.
- There is a yellow and white, and the one that is well cooked, and hard for soup.
- I like yellow, her grandmother in her childhood always cooked, - dreamingly said Alexander.
Tomorrow is Saturday, weekend. And you come to me in the village, you will see what potatoes I have, I have a lot more... I am old already, it is hard for me to drag my bags, and you are young, here and go somewhere nearby, just forty minutes on the electric car. Come, I will not hurt you.
And Sasuke went. Not for the potatoes, but for the warmth lost from childhood.
*** by
Two years passed.
Is the cake really fresh? Evdokia Stepanovna asked for the second time.
“Yes, I tell you, yesterday they brought you, well, what do you, god, like a little child? The seller answered.
My kids will come to me tomorrow with their grandchildren, so I ask. Give me one, I will try.
"Look, Stepanovna survived completely crazy," they joked in a row, "found some hungry people, let the house, last summer Svetka with the children all summer on her neck sat. I liked it, they go again.
Oh, and do not speak. Foreign people, swing to the thread, or even knock on the butt, the house is good. Vasily was the deceased owner. I told her how many times, she cried out.
Weighs me a kilo, a good cake.
Finally, my aunt was standing behind me. You are not eating them, Stepanovna.
Evdokia Stepanovna, not in a hurry, went home and smiled. What is her conversation? All kinds of gossip. Parents are not relatives, what a difference. Where are those relatives? For so many years I did not remember her. But here Sasha with the Light help, and not to help the matter.
“Sasha, what can we wait for tomorrow? I have put all the things together and packed the guests, we are just getting the last electric. They went, right? - Agitated Svetlana's husband who came from work.
“Daddy, we went to my grandmother, we went,” Deniska picked up, “there are chickens, cakes, chickens with cherry...there’s fine.
“Baba,” the two-year-old Lennochka jumped, “I want to go to my grandmother.
Alexander looked at his family, smiled, shrugged his hand:
They went.
They sat in the electric car, the children looked out the window, periodically announcing the car with enthusiastic screams: "Look, look!" It’s so great when you have a grandmother who is always waiting!

In the United States, they are considering the possibility of depicting in dollars a black fighter for the abolition of slavery.
Black people in ecstasy.
And the whites rub their hands, because it will be possible to officially and without problems exchange the Negro for a commodity!

Laiki is the highest achievement of democracy. With their help, even those who are unable to link two words can speak online, and even those who are unable to understand the thought can appreciate it.

The company created a subsidiary, gave a loan. People work and turn.

The tax comes:

Your financial performance is bad. In such a situation, no one except the related persons would give you a loan. So there is no business purpose and interest on the loan can not be included in tax expenses.



Well fuck them, the costs have been reduced, the fine paid - work on.

Worked well.

Next year comes the tax:

Your financial performance is very good. You do not need a loan at all.

So there is no business purpose and interest on the loan can not be included in tax expenses!

Coronavirus is no longer as scary as making new decisions to fight it.

Science has not gone through...

(On the basis of the news)



After Poklonskaya stated that the QR codes violate the Constitution of the Russian Federation, the inhabitants of Cape Verde relieved, but the white bears and penguins got worse, because, apparently, the next place of her work for the next couple of years will be either the North Pole or Antarctica...))



© Dmitry Sviridov

Her aunt called here and told her about her triumphal victory over Mosenergo. Well, or as there is the name of an organization that takes money from the Moscovites for electricity. My aunt is a Moscow woman. Not indigenous, nor descendent, it became a moscovite when a few years ago Moscow annexed a large piece of Moscow suburb. Moreover, Moscow became not only an apartment in a sovhoshny house, but also, what is important for this history, a plot of land with a garden house in the village called, whether Old Hrenovo, or Lower Jopovo, is not. So it turned out that aunt lived with us for a long time, and then went to live in his capital property. And there she was waiting for a surprise in the form of an electricity bill used in this very Old Jopov. The grandchildren paid for the household in the apartment, and did not remember the site, because they were there extremely rarely - young people all this garden masochism is uninteresting. Here comes the account. No, it is wrong: the account! Because he was in the amount of ninety thousand rubles. My aunt experienced everything in her life, the status of a minor prisoner of fascism says a lot, but this surprise, of course, did not please her. She began to call on contact phones, asking to figure out how a garden house with electrical equipment in the form of an Ilyich light bulb could use such a amount of electricity, and not get stuck. Well, what there, not to get stuck, not to drown everything Upper Fuck. Teisha has worked for many years as the head of the Central Committee (central boiler) and understands something in energy! However, contact phones do not exist to contact, but to protect yourself from contacts, so effective communication failed. Excursions to the corresponding offices also did not bring results. Meanwhile, the bills came new, and the amount has already increased to 100 thousand rubles! We knew nothing: the aunt said she was dealing with the payment, but did not say anything about the scale of the problem. Meanwhile, she began to be named every morning by people who with unpleasant voices advised to repay the debt immediately. Their recommendations were intertwined with threats and insults. The situation became quite impasse, but here it was easier to find out some secret number of a very big boss. In the reception room of this same boss gave a secret email address to which she (with the help of her granddaughter) sent the application. Imagine it worked! A commission came, which examined the counter, the light bulb, and issued a verdict: there is a debt! Not a hundred thousand, but ninety. The ruble. What nine red boys the aunt immediately paid, because she doesn't like to be a debtor. That, you agree, is very praiseful.
After that, only she devoted everyone to this story, and at the same time asked me if she could somehow punishment for those who called her. I am a skeptic by nature, so I figured out that for the lawsuit it was necessary to record conversations, go to the medical unit, record an increase in blood pressure and sugar levels... And I think: she, a three-year-old child, won the fascists, managed to cope with Mosenergo... Maybe she will get there? Give to God!! to

The same bottle of water in the supermarket costs 20 cents, in the gym 50 cents, in the bar 1 euro, in the plane 3 euros. It all depends on the place you need it.
Therefore, when it seems to you that you are nothing and not fit anywhere, you are in the wrong place.

When I was 17, I had a best friend. 17 years, you understand yourself, youth, unhappy love and all that. One day, we go for a walk with her. I tell her about our relationship, well, of course he is so ugly, and he doesn't love me at all, and I love him, by the way, very much, and how to live on. I cry, the torso runs on my face, I whisper my nose, in general, the tragedy of the century! My friend is very attentive, silent, listening to me, periodically sympathizing with her head. And in the most epic moment of my suffering, she suddenly stops sharply, takes my hand sharply, and looking into my broken eyes, asks, “Listen, what do you think I should buy?” Black or brown?

The June. My son was six years old and went to the library. He returns with indignation – closed! I ask, maybe an ad on the door? Yes, he says, “Doctor’s Day” is written. I am, of course, a little surprised: since when did librarians begin to celebrate the day of the medical worker (and he was at that time)?

He comes to me tonight. I say: and there accidentally was not the “Sanitary Day” written? The Son: Aha

In order not to directly ask the girls age, always asking who they are according to the Chinese horoscope, the spread by year is 12 years, you can easily guess.

Once a girl said she was born in the year of the Bull, and I told her that she looks good for her 35s.

It turned out she was 23 years old.

When I was a kid, I was sent to my grandmother in the summer. My grandmother kept chickens in large quantities. And these chickens were roasted on water, without sugar, of course, without salt, and put on such a large steak pot in the seeds to cool down. I stole it and ate it. It was so delicious! One day I got caught in this work. The grandmother wept for a long time and said, the child is hungry. I cooked meat on milk and sugar. I tried it, shrugged and said - grandmother, and chickens you make better!