Ment
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Epitaph on the grave of Zmey Gorynych: "He was born to fly, had a heart of fire, spoke three languages, and appreciated feminine beauty."
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- Tell me, if a husband cleans his nails with a screwdriver, can you call him an idiot?
- Well, only if it's a Phillips-head!
- Another one...
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The first thing a Chukchi visiting Moscow couldn't understand was why everyone kept saying "however" to him while smiling slyly...
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A hare is walking through the forest and sees a bear selling gum:
- Bear, give me some gum.
- Answer 3 questions correctly and I will. First question: from what year to what year was the First World War?
- From 1914 to 1917.
- Who participated in the Second World War?
- Hitler and Stalin.
- How many stars are in the sky?
- Scientists don't know yet.
- Take the gum.
The hare walks through the forest and meets a wolf.
- Where did you get the gum?
- The bear is selling it beyond the same birch grove. He'll ask you 3 questions. The answer to the first is from 1914 to 1917. To the second - Hitler and Stalin. To the third - scientists don't know yet.
The wolf goes to the bear.
- Ask your questions.
- What year were you born?
- From 1914 to 1917.
- Who are your father and mother?
- Hitler and Stalin.
- Are you an idiot?
- Scientists don't know yet.
Galya.
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British scientists have discovered that all other scientists have long been laughing at their discoveries...
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You guys have jeeps, yachts, planes over there...
In our village, the one whose water hasn't frozen is the same as a big shot.
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The algorithm of a navigator with a "traffic" function:
1. Find a route to the nearest dead-end traffic jam.
2. Wait until the user in the dead-end jam curses, screams, cries, laughs, turns the navigator off and on several times, and starts falling asleep...
3. Suggest "cutting" 5 meters of the dead-end jam by turning into the nearest gas station.
If the user turns into an alley/U-turns and thus escapes the dead-end jam:
1. Issue a warning: You have left the route!
2. Find a route to the nearest dead-end traffic jam.
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Everyone has read the "Do not feed the lions" sign on the cage at the zoo. Only the janitor knows that on the other side it says "Do not eat humans."
---------
The other day in the news, they said that Deputy Zhirinovsky, speaking in the Duma, really went after one of his colleagues. "...young strong deputies gathered from both sides..." They show a Stone Head with the comment "Deputy Valuyev HUMANEly decided not to interfere in the conflict."!!!!!
He should have interfered, perhaps...
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Once upon a time, when trees were big and prices were small, my parents picked up a fluffy smoky kitten. There was no question about the name: Dymok (Smoky) and Dymok.
And a couple of weeks later, the author of these lines was born. Therefore, the rest is from my parents' words.
Dymok and I grew up together, and I couldn't imagine it being any other way, as his presence was beside me throughout my entire endless life, until I was three. The cat slept with me instead of a soft toy, finished my semolina porridge, and I was caught a couple of times trying to treat myself from the cat's bowl.
But cats in private houses don't live long, and eventually find adventure for their rear-end assets. Either they get caught in a trap, or poisoned somewhere, or torn apart by dogs, or shredded by own kind.
That's how Dymok disappeared one day when I was three. At first, I wailed and pestered everyone with the question "Where is Dymok?". Then I searched all the sheds, attics, and the garden (for those times—a huge unexplored territory for a three-year-old giant). Eventually, they calmed me down with a fairy tale about how he went to a land where there are many, many mice, and that he is happy now.
A few months passed. Late autumn, first frosts (in the 60s, frosts still occurred in November). Mom is getting ready for work, putting on her warm coat and gray fur hat for the first time this year. Suddenly someone tugs at her coat and, looking intently from her eyes to her hat, asks in a sly voice:
"Mom. Where is Dymok?"
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The biggest lottery win for me was my life.
It went like this: my parents already had two daughters, but my father desperately wanted a son. And so Mom was pregnant for the third time and planning to have an abortion, because moving around military towns in Soviet times following the officer ranks of a beloved husband with three children is more costly than with two.
But Dad bet that this time a boy would definitely be born and he would teach him football and billiards, and take him fishing. He starts begging Mom, saying he'll do anything in the world if she just has the third child.
And she happens to blurt out: "Win a Volga in the lottery with one ticket—then I'll have it."
Dad rushes to the nearest kiosk, buys one instant lottery ticket and... jumps for joy with wild screams - VOLGA!!!
Mom had to give birth to me :) Though, I turned out to be a girl after all. Oh well, but I still play billiards pretty well.
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In the Polar Urals, many trailers (called "balks") remained after geological surveys; they can be found in many valleys and even on passes. Since windows and doors were broken long ago, balks fill with snow in winter, sometimes the snow inside doesn't melt all summer. The dream of a skier exhausted by wind, cold, and this whole Ural region is to find an intact balk in livable condition. Or at least bring it to that state by shoveling out the snow. And so we found a whole mini-settlement of such houses right on the pass. Plenty of snow inside. But in one of the balks, there was still a gap between the snow and the ceiling. And a stove pipe stuck out—all signs pointed toward an upcoming warm night's sleep. But first, several cubic meters of snow had to be moved, and beforehand, it had to be determined if this made sense. And so one of my friends, a highly rational man, lay on his stomach and crawled into the darkness. It was very narrow. He courageously pushed forward. Suddenly something stopped him. Since in childhood my friend spent a long time and productively doing caving, this was nothing new to him. He exhaled properly and tried to push forward. In vain! Stuck! Another attempt—no way! He lay there, recovered his breath, started freezing. No panic! Another attempt—no!
Stuck!!! It took another 15 minutes before it dawned on him.
Later he recalled that the thought was killingly simple.
"Skis! My God, I forgot to take off my skis!"
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Pieced together from many memoirs. October '41, five of our armies were surrounded near Vyazma. Summoned from Leningrad, Zhukov searches among the Moscow marshes for the front commander Marshal Budyonny. The road to Moscow is open; a column of German armored vehicles rushes along the Warsaw highway. A company of cadets from the Yukhnovskoye school placed several anti-aircraft guns across the highway and fired direct fire. The German column grumbled and rushed around via a forest path. At first they were doing well, but then a sleepy light rain started. They were only a couple of kilometers away from the highway with their clever maneuver. A German tanker managed to write in his diary - "stuck up to our ears in mud. We aren't driving, we're digging. If only the frosts would come!" When the tanks were buried up to the turret, the frosts hit...
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About Anfiska
In our kindergarten there is one little thing, Anfiska; our lockers are next to each other. Well, it doesn't stop at lockers; they also sleep side by side. In short, such bed-and-locker relations.
Anyway, that's not what this is about. Not about the relations.
So, this little thing, Anfiska, she has two dads. Papa Erik and Papa Vitalik. They take her to the garden in turns. That's exactly how she calls them: Papa Erik and Papa Vitalik.
Fine. The more dads, the better. After all, it directly affects the number of gifts. Some have none, but Anfiska has two. Let her be.
The distribution of dads across the planet is generally quite uneven. Sometimes thick, sometimes thin. It often happens that there are two dads. Or none. Anfiska has two, so what's the big deal?
Another thing is that Anfiska also has two moms. On one hand, with two dads, this seems perfectly normal. On the other hand—quite atypical. Their names are Mama Sveta and Mama Lena. They also take turns in the watch of delivering Anfiska along with the dads. They have some kind of complex sliding schedule, maybe twenty-four hours on three off. Moreover, if Anfiska's dads differ sharply from each other (one is dark-haired, the other red), and don't cause identification problems, then Anfiska's moms are like two drops of water, and I still get confused about who the duty mom is today until Anfiska says her name.
But most often, Anfiska is brought to the garden by her grandmother. Don't be scared, the grandmother is always the same one. Although with the number of parents God endowed Anfiska with, I can't even realistically imagine the number of grandmothers and grandfathers.
And least often, Anfiska is brought by Uncle Seryozha. Uncle Seryozha is either a friend or a driver for one of the dads. I don't know which one specifically. "Driver-of-another" says Anfiska. Uncle Seryozha is a big silent type. In all these years, I haven't heard a single word from Uncle Seryozha. He communicates with Anfiska using his head and ears.
He greets her upon meeting with his whole body. Once he returned to give back a toy Anfiska had forgotten. He stood in the doorway of the group. Well, finally, I thought. Now Uncle Seryozha will say his first word. And what did he do? He just clapped loudly. All the children, including Anfiska of course, immediately turned around.
At the same time, he is definitely not mute. I once clearly heard him cursing the driver of a car that blocked his exit.
Everyone has long grown used to this number of Anfiska's close relatives; no problems.
Actually, no. It happened once. When a new teacher came to our group, Anna Borisovna. They searched for her so long and were so happy when they found her that in their joy they simply forgot to mention the number of Anfiska's parents. And so for two weeks we enjoyed watching how her face gradually lengthened with the appearance of each new Anfiska dad or mom. When Mama Lena picked up Anfiska in the evening, but Uncle Seryozha brought her in the morning, Anna Borisovna's left eye would start to twitch. (Later it was fine, it passed)
In short, that's how it is.
Anyway, this isn't about moms and dads after all, it's about Anfiska.
You know, there's an expression—the tail wags the dog.
Well, this tail, Anfiska, she doesn't just wag the dog. No. She mocks this "dog" in every way, torments her, shreds nerves, bossy-boots her, and vilely ridicules her.
This little booger has mastered all the techniques of the most disgusting manipulation.
Apparently, despite the apparent well-being of the relations, there is a hidden competition between families for Anfiska's attention. And she makes great use of this.
Mama Lena dresses her, for example, and then Anfiska screams indignantly.
- Why did you tie the scarf under the jacket!!! Mama Sveta always ties mine on top! Otherwise I could easily catch a cold!
Mama Lena's eyes become big and frightened, and she starts frantically re-tying the scarf. After that, you can do whatever you want with Mama Lena; she is completely demoralized. I, observing this, know perfectly well that, first of all, Anfiska doesn't give a damn how her scarf is tied. And secondly, I remember perfectly that she said exactly the same thing to Mama Sveta yesterday.
Or for example, Papa Vitalik ties bows for her in the morning. He puffs and sweats, trying with his palms to handle each of Anfiska's head's thin webs of hair and ribbons.
- Blue on the left, pink on the right! - Anfiska ridicules joyfully after waiting until the bows are finally tied. - And how did you tie them?! Re-tie them now! Why are you dawdling? Do you know how Papa Erik ties bows? Zip, and that's it! And he hangs the jacket on that hook over there, not this one! What, are you just clueless?
Papa Vitalik shrivels up and starts to fuss. His hands and chin tremble; it's unpleasant to look at him. Well, I don't look. When I observe all these Anfiska jumps and affectations, my hands start to itch. Little monster. I simply can't imagine how one can tolerate such a thing. If it were up to me, this little scrap would be marching in formation and saluting by the third day. Now if anything, putting small vile blots in their place—I wouldn't need any other food, just give me the chance.
The mockery usually ends the same way. Nina Palna appears.
- Anfiska?! You'll get it from me, you little brat! Now move it to the group!
Anfiska tucks her tail and all her arrogance flies off her like dandelions in the wind. You can't fool Nina Palna.
We had many teachers change, but the nanny Nina Palna is as immovable as New Year's. Nina Palna doesn't coddle anyone for long. Everyone is afraid of her. Even lumpy porridge and fish soup are eaten with pleasure to the bottom (everyone-everyone, including, I think, even the kindergarten director). For Anfiska's numerous parents, the appearance of Nina Palna is like a lifebuoy for a drowning person. They sigh in relief and wipe sweat from their foreheads. I think in their souls they simply idolize Nina Palna. I don't know what they do at home without her, how they deal with this little monster.
So that's the way the same-kitten-pies go. That's the kind of curious friend the kid has.
And then, just before New Year's, we gathered for a New Year's performance at the ice palace.
For company, we invited a buddy, Genka. So it wouldn't be boring.
We agreed with his parents.
Well, everything was discussed, and I was just about to go get the tickets. And suddenly the kid says - why doesn't Anfiska come with us too?
- No!!! - I said quickly. - No, in no case!
The kid got upset. That is, he didn't say anything of course; if not, then not. But he was saddened.
I don't like it when the kid gets saddened. More accurately how? Most of all in life I don't like it when the kid gets saddened.
And I thought. Yes, maybe I am not courageous enough, and even somewhere a faint-hearted person. But I've lived, tasted everything, I served in the army after all, stood on the parade ground in thirty-degree frost, and once I was even actually killed. Do I really fear staying for three hours with some little slip of a girl? That would be shameful.
And I said - damn it, fine. Let Anfiska come!
- Hurray! - shouted the kid. This reconciled me to the inevitable for a while.
Besides, in my soul I still hoped that one of her parents would go with us. Two adults are better than one. I am a naive person, raised on Soviet principles of kindness and justice. I didn't think that Anfiska's parents were significantly younger and raised on completely different principles.
- Great! - they said. - Just wonderful! Will you pick her up from home, or should we bring her somewhere?
Unfeigned joy rang in the voice at the possibility of getting rid of the domestic tyrannosaurus for even three hours. I realized there was no help to be expected.
At night, on the eve of the performance, I had a nightmare. As if I, driven to despair by Anfiska's twists and turns, take her by the hands and feet, spin her over my head, and let go. She flies over the stadium arena, over the heads of the spectators, and lands like a rag doll in the opposite stands. "My God! What have I done!" I think. And meanwhile over the arena, on those huge screens, Anfiska's mocking face appears, and from the loudspeakers throughout the stadium her vile "Ha-ha-ha! Who throws like that? Now Mama Sveta..." blares out.
I woke up in a cold sweat.
And we started getting ready.
Mama Lena brought Anfiska to the stadium. They stood by the car, and Anfiska was habitually telling her off about something. Regarding her hairstyle, as I understood it.
- Is it warm in your car? - I asked.
- Yes, normal...
- Then maybe you'll change her here? In the foyer there is god-knows-what going on. And you can't get into the cloakroom at all.
- Of course! - said Mama Lena and looked at Anfiska.
- I don't want to change in the car! - she squeaked defiantly and pouted her lip.
Then I sat down and said quietly.
- Did I ask what you want? You have four and a half minutes. If you don't make it, you go home. That's it, time starts now.
Anfiska dove into the car, and Mama Lena stood there looking at me like I was a yeti.
- Four and a half minutes. - I repeated
- Oh, sorry! - she realized and dove after Anfiska.
Then I wrapped the changed child in my jacket, took her under my arm, and marched into the building. The performance was starting.
You know what? I've seen all kinds of children. And I love observing various little scraps.
But listen! I have never, ever in my life encountered such an obedient and calm child.
She didn't throw tantrums, didn't grumble, and didn't talk back. She ate sweet popcorn, although she asked for salted. She drank mineral water instead of cola silently.
She watched the boys while I stepped away for snacks, and quietly recounted the missed events on stage to me. And during the break...
Listen, during the break, when the kid was rolling like mercury through the foyer, she just stuck like gum to my leg and didn't peel off for a second. Which greatly simplified my life, since I only have two eyes.
In short, this was anyone but that Anfiska I knew.
The one who every morning sawed at the nerves of those around her with a rusty chisel "And I will NOOOOT wear these pink tiiiights! I already said, I'll only weaaar blue ones! Is it really so hard to remember?!"
I didn't like all this; I was waiting for a catch. I was focused, tense, and ready at any moment, at the slightest attempt to test my authority, to flatten this little slip with a couple of pre-prepared sharp phrases.
Alas. She didn't give me a single chance. Didn't give the slightest reason.
Then she asked to go to the bathroom; we walked through empty echoing passages and chatted about this and that. And while washing hands, she suddenly asked.
- Doesn't Nikita have a mom?
- What makes you think so? - I laughed. - Of course he does!
- It's just that she never comes to the garden.
- Well, she has other things to do. That's why I always take Nikita.
- Lucky him! - she sighed.
- How is it lucky? - I laughed again.
- No one argues about who takes the child to the garden tomorrow.
Then she looked at me in the mirror, thought and thought, and added.
- Because of that, they forgot to pick me up three times. And the teacher took me home with her. Just don't tell anyone.
- I won't. Did you cry?
- Only the first time. After that, I already became an adult.
* * *
After the New Year holidays, the first thing we saw entering the dressing room was Anfiska. She stood on a stool at attention, and opposite her, also at attention, stood Papa Vitalya with a phone in his hand.
- Ready? - asked Anfiska.
- Ready! - answered Papa Vitalya.
Then she commanded loudly.
- Four and a half minutes! Time starts now! Whoever doesn't make it goes home!
And she started undressing very quickly.
Sad Papa Vitalya obediently stared at the timer.
* * *
I remembered this story yesterday when picking up the kid from kindergarten.
The group under the guidance of an art teacher sat and were finishing drawing cards for February 23rd.
Then we were dressing, and the kid said.
- I have just a little bit left there, to finish coloring the tank.
- And I've finished everything! - boasted Anfiska, who was spinning around nearby.
- Wow! - I said. - You already drew two cards?
- Why two? - she wondered.
- Well how many? You have two dads. You need two cards.
Anfiska thought for a moment, pouted her lip, and said in a vile screeching voice.
- My goooood! With you men, there are always suuuuch prooooblemss!
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I'm playing the computer game "Akinator". The program guesses the word you thought of by asking various questions. So, at one point in the game I was asked: "Does your character have a brain?". I answered: "No" (since I had thought of the word "jack") and immediately received the next question: "Does your character wear a bra?"...
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- Tell me, if a husband cleans his nails with a screwdriver, can you call him an idiot?
- Well, only if it's a Phillips-head!
- Another one...
---------
The first thing a Chukchi visiting Moscow couldn't understand was why everyone kept saying "however" to him while smiling slyly...
----------
A hare is walking through the forest and sees a bear selling gum:
- Bear, give me some gum.
- Answer 3 questions correctly and I will. First question: from what year to what year was the First World War?
- From 1914 to 1917.
- Who participated in the Second World War?
- Hitler and Stalin.
- How many stars are in the sky?
- Scientists don't know yet.
- Take the gum.
The hare walks through the forest and meets a wolf.
- Where did you get the gum?
- The bear is selling it beyond the same birch grove. He'll ask you 3 questions. The answer to the first is from 1914 to 1917. To the second - Hitler and Stalin. To the third - scientists don't know yet.
The wolf goes to the bear.
- Ask your questions.
- What year were you born?
- From 1914 to 1917.
- Who are your father and mother?
- Hitler and Stalin.
- Are you an idiot?
- Scientists don't know yet.
Galya.
----------
British scientists have discovered that all other scientists have long been laughing at their discoveries...
--------
You guys have jeeps, yachts, planes over there...
In our village, the one whose water hasn't frozen is the same as a big shot.
---------
The algorithm of a navigator with a "traffic" function:
1. Find a route to the nearest dead-end traffic jam.
2. Wait until the user in the dead-end jam curses, screams, cries, laughs, turns the navigator off and on several times, and starts falling asleep...
3. Suggest "cutting" 5 meters of the dead-end jam by turning into the nearest gas station.
If the user turns into an alley/U-turns and thus escapes the dead-end jam:
1. Issue a warning: You have left the route!
2. Find a route to the nearest dead-end traffic jam.
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Everyone has read the "Do not feed the lions" sign on the cage at the zoo. Only the janitor knows that on the other side it says "Do not eat humans."
---------
The other day in the news, they said that Deputy Zhirinovsky, speaking in the Duma, really went after one of his colleagues. "...young strong deputies gathered from both sides..." They show a Stone Head with the comment "Deputy Valuyev HUMANEly decided not to interfere in the conflict."!!!!!
He should have interfered, perhaps...
--------
Once upon a time, when trees were big and prices were small, my parents picked up a fluffy smoky kitten. There was no question about the name: Dymok (Smoky) and Dymok.
And a couple of weeks later, the author of these lines was born. Therefore, the rest is from my parents' words.
Dymok and I grew up together, and I couldn't imagine it being any other way, as his presence was beside me throughout my entire endless life, until I was three. The cat slept with me instead of a soft toy, finished my semolina porridge, and I was caught a couple of times trying to treat myself from the cat's bowl.
But cats in private houses don't live long, and eventually find adventure for their rear-end assets. Either they get caught in a trap, or poisoned somewhere, or torn apart by dogs, or shredded by own kind.
That's how Dymok disappeared one day when I was three. At first, I wailed and pestered everyone with the question "Where is Dymok?". Then I searched all the sheds, attics, and the garden (for those times—a huge unexplored territory for a three-year-old giant). Eventually, they calmed me down with a fairy tale about how he went to a land where there are many, many mice, and that he is happy now.
A few months passed. Late autumn, first frosts (in the 60s, frosts still occurred in November). Mom is getting ready for work, putting on her warm coat and gray fur hat for the first time this year. Suddenly someone tugs at her coat and, looking intently from her eyes to her hat, asks in a sly voice:
"Mom. Where is Dymok?"
-----------
The biggest lottery win for me was my life.
It went like this: my parents already had two daughters, but my father desperately wanted a son. And so Mom was pregnant for the third time and planning to have an abortion, because moving around military towns in Soviet times following the officer ranks of a beloved husband with three children is more costly than with two.
But Dad bet that this time a boy would definitely be born and he would teach him football and billiards, and take him fishing. He starts begging Mom, saying he'll do anything in the world if she just has the third child.
And she happens to blurt out: "Win a Volga in the lottery with one ticket—then I'll have it."
Dad rushes to the nearest kiosk, buys one instant lottery ticket and... jumps for joy with wild screams - VOLGA!!!
Mom had to give birth to me :) Though, I turned out to be a girl after all. Oh well, but I still play billiards pretty well.
-----------
In the Polar Urals, many trailers (called "balks") remained after geological surveys; they can be found in many valleys and even on passes. Since windows and doors were broken long ago, balks fill with snow in winter, sometimes the snow inside doesn't melt all summer. The dream of a skier exhausted by wind, cold, and this whole Ural region is to find an intact balk in livable condition. Or at least bring it to that state by shoveling out the snow. And so we found a whole mini-settlement of such houses right on the pass. Plenty of snow inside. But in one of the balks, there was still a gap between the snow and the ceiling. And a stove pipe stuck out—all signs pointed toward an upcoming warm night's sleep. But first, several cubic meters of snow had to be moved, and beforehand, it had to be determined if this made sense. And so one of my friends, a highly rational man, lay on his stomach and crawled into the darkness. It was very narrow. He courageously pushed forward. Suddenly something stopped him. Since in childhood my friend spent a long time and productively doing caving, this was nothing new to him. He exhaled properly and tried to push forward. In vain! Stuck! Another attempt—no way! He lay there, recovered his breath, started freezing. No panic! Another attempt—no!
Stuck!!! It took another 15 minutes before it dawned on him.
Later he recalled that the thought was killingly simple.
"Skis! My God, I forgot to take off my skis!"
--------------
Pieced together from many memoirs. October '41, five of our armies were surrounded near Vyazma. Summoned from Leningrad, Zhukov searches among the Moscow marshes for the front commander Marshal Budyonny. The road to Moscow is open; a column of German armored vehicles rushes along the Warsaw highway. A company of cadets from the Yukhnovskoye school placed several anti-aircraft guns across the highway and fired direct fire. The German column grumbled and rushed around via a forest path. At first they were doing well, but then a sleepy light rain started. They were only a couple of kilometers away from the highway with their clever maneuver. A German tanker managed to write in his diary - "stuck up to our ears in mud. We aren't driving, we're digging. If only the frosts would come!" When the tanks were buried up to the turret, the frosts hit...
-------------
About Anfiska
In our kindergarten there is one little thing, Anfiska; our lockers are next to each other. Well, it doesn't stop at lockers; they also sleep side by side. In short, such bed-and-locker relations.
Anyway, that's not what this is about. Not about the relations.
So, this little thing, Anfiska, she has two dads. Papa Erik and Papa Vitalik. They take her to the garden in turns. That's exactly how she calls them: Papa Erik and Papa Vitalik.
Fine. The more dads, the better. After all, it directly affects the number of gifts. Some have none, but Anfiska has two. Let her be.
The distribution of dads across the planet is generally quite uneven. Sometimes thick, sometimes thin. It often happens that there are two dads. Or none. Anfiska has two, so what's the big deal?
Another thing is that Anfiska also has two moms. On one hand, with two dads, this seems perfectly normal. On the other hand—quite atypical. Their names are Mama Sveta and Mama Lena. They also take turns in the watch of delivering Anfiska along with the dads. They have some kind of complex sliding schedule, maybe twenty-four hours on three off. Moreover, if Anfiska's dads differ sharply from each other (one is dark-haired, the other red), and don't cause identification problems, then Anfiska's moms are like two drops of water, and I still get confused about who the duty mom is today until Anfiska says her name.
But most often, Anfiska is brought to the garden by her grandmother. Don't be scared, the grandmother is always the same one. Although with the number of parents God endowed Anfiska with, I can't even realistically imagine the number of grandmothers and grandfathers.
And least often, Anfiska is brought by Uncle Seryozha. Uncle Seryozha is either a friend or a driver for one of the dads. I don't know which one specifically. "Driver-of-another" says Anfiska. Uncle Seryozha is a big silent type. In all these years, I haven't heard a single word from Uncle Seryozha. He communicates with Anfiska using his head and ears.
He greets her upon meeting with his whole body. Once he returned to give back a toy Anfiska had forgotten. He stood in the doorway of the group. Well, finally, I thought. Now Uncle Seryozha will say his first word. And what did he do? He just clapped loudly. All the children, including Anfiska of course, immediately turned around.
At the same time, he is definitely not mute. I once clearly heard him cursing the driver of a car that blocked his exit.
Everyone has long grown used to this number of Anfiska's close relatives; no problems.
Actually, no. It happened once. When a new teacher came to our group, Anna Borisovna. They searched for her so long and were so happy when they found her that in their joy they simply forgot to mention the number of Anfiska's parents. And so for two weeks we enjoyed watching how her face gradually lengthened with the appearance of each new Anfiska dad or mom. When Mama Lena picked up Anfiska in the evening, but Uncle Seryozha brought her in the morning, Anna Borisovna's left eye would start to twitch. (Later it was fine, it passed)
In short, that's how it is.
Anyway, this isn't about moms and dads after all, it's about Anfiska.
You know, there's an expression—the tail wags the dog.
Well, this tail, Anfiska, she doesn't just wag the dog. No. She mocks this "dog" in every way, torments her, shreds nerves, bossy-boots her, and vilely ridicules her.
This little booger has mastered all the techniques of the most disgusting manipulation.
Apparently, despite the apparent well-being of the relations, there is a hidden competition between families for Anfiska's attention. And she makes great use of this.
Mama Lena dresses her, for example, and then Anfiska screams indignantly.
- Why did you tie the scarf under the jacket!!! Mama Sveta always ties mine on top! Otherwise I could easily catch a cold!
Mama Lena's eyes become big and frightened, and she starts frantically re-tying the scarf. After that, you can do whatever you want with Mama Lena; she is completely demoralized. I, observing this, know perfectly well that, first of all, Anfiska doesn't give a damn how her scarf is tied. And secondly, I remember perfectly that she said exactly the same thing to Mama Sveta yesterday.
Or for example, Papa Vitalik ties bows for her in the morning. He puffs and sweats, trying with his palms to handle each of Anfiska's head's thin webs of hair and ribbons.
- Blue on the left, pink on the right! - Anfiska ridicules joyfully after waiting until the bows are finally tied. - And how did you tie them?! Re-tie them now! Why are you dawdling? Do you know how Papa Erik ties bows? Zip, and that's it! And he hangs the jacket on that hook over there, not this one! What, are you just clueless?
Papa Vitalik shrivels up and starts to fuss. His hands and chin tremble; it's unpleasant to look at him. Well, I don't look. When I observe all these Anfiska jumps and affectations, my hands start to itch. Little monster. I simply can't imagine how one can tolerate such a thing. If it were up to me, this little scrap would be marching in formation and saluting by the third day. Now if anything, putting small vile blots in their place—I wouldn't need any other food, just give me the chance.
The mockery usually ends the same way. Nina Palna appears.
- Anfiska?! You'll get it from me, you little brat! Now move it to the group!
Anfiska tucks her tail and all her arrogance flies off her like dandelions in the wind. You can't fool Nina Palna.
We had many teachers change, but the nanny Nina Palna is as immovable as New Year's. Nina Palna doesn't coddle anyone for long. Everyone is afraid of her. Even lumpy porridge and fish soup are eaten with pleasure to the bottom (everyone-everyone, including, I think, even the kindergarten director). For Anfiska's numerous parents, the appearance of Nina Palna is like a lifebuoy for a drowning person. They sigh in relief and wipe sweat from their foreheads. I think in their souls they simply idolize Nina Palna. I don't know what they do at home without her, how they deal with this little monster.
So that's the way the same-kitten-pies go. That's the kind of curious friend the kid has.
And then, just before New Year's, we gathered for a New Year's performance at the ice palace.
For company, we invited a buddy, Genka. So it wouldn't be boring.
We agreed with his parents.
Well, everything was discussed, and I was just about to go get the tickets. And suddenly the kid says - why doesn't Anfiska come with us too?
- No!!! - I said quickly. - No, in no case!
The kid got upset. That is, he didn't say anything of course; if not, then not. But he was saddened.
I don't like it when the kid gets saddened. More accurately how? Most of all in life I don't like it when the kid gets saddened.
And I thought. Yes, maybe I am not courageous enough, and even somewhere a faint-hearted person. But I've lived, tasted everything, I served in the army after all, stood on the parade ground in thirty-degree frost, and once I was even actually killed. Do I really fear staying for three hours with some little slip of a girl? That would be shameful.
And I said - damn it, fine. Let Anfiska come!
- Hurray! - shouted the kid. This reconciled me to the inevitable for a while.
Besides, in my soul I still hoped that one of her parents would go with us. Two adults are better than one. I am a naive person, raised on Soviet principles of kindness and justice. I didn't think that Anfiska's parents were significantly younger and raised on completely different principles.
- Great! - they said. - Just wonderful! Will you pick her up from home, or should we bring her somewhere?
Unfeigned joy rang in the voice at the possibility of getting rid of the domestic tyrannosaurus for even three hours. I realized there was no help to be expected.
At night, on the eve of the performance, I had a nightmare. As if I, driven to despair by Anfiska's twists and turns, take her by the hands and feet, spin her over my head, and let go. She flies over the stadium arena, over the heads of the spectators, and lands like a rag doll in the opposite stands. "My God! What have I done!" I think. And meanwhile over the arena, on those huge screens, Anfiska's mocking face appears, and from the loudspeakers throughout the stadium her vile "Ha-ha-ha! Who throws like that? Now Mama Sveta..." blares out.
I woke up in a cold sweat.
And we started getting ready.
Mama Lena brought Anfiska to the stadium. They stood by the car, and Anfiska was habitually telling her off about something. Regarding her hairstyle, as I understood it.
- Is it warm in your car? - I asked.
- Yes, normal...
- Then maybe you'll change her here? In the foyer there is god-knows-what going on. And you can't get into the cloakroom at all.
- Of course! - said Mama Lena and looked at Anfiska.
- I don't want to change in the car! - she squeaked defiantly and pouted her lip.
Then I sat down and said quietly.
- Did I ask what you want? You have four and a half minutes. If you don't make it, you go home. That's it, time starts now.
Anfiska dove into the car, and Mama Lena stood there looking at me like I was a yeti.
- Four and a half minutes. - I repeated
- Oh, sorry! - she realized and dove after Anfiska.
Then I wrapped the changed child in my jacket, took her under my arm, and marched into the building. The performance was starting.
You know what? I've seen all kinds of children. And I love observing various little scraps.
But listen! I have never, ever in my life encountered such an obedient and calm child.
She didn't throw tantrums, didn't grumble, and didn't talk back. She ate sweet popcorn, although she asked for salted. She drank mineral water instead of cola silently.
She watched the boys while I stepped away for snacks, and quietly recounted the missed events on stage to me. And during the break...
Listen, during the break, when the kid was rolling like mercury through the foyer, she just stuck like gum to my leg and didn't peel off for a second. Which greatly simplified my life, since I only have two eyes.
In short, this was anyone but that Anfiska I knew.
The one who every morning sawed at the nerves of those around her with a rusty chisel "And I will NOOOOT wear these pink tiiiights! I already said, I'll only weaaar blue ones! Is it really so hard to remember?!"
I didn't like all this; I was waiting for a catch. I was focused, tense, and ready at any moment, at the slightest attempt to test my authority, to flatten this little slip with a couple of pre-prepared sharp phrases.
Alas. She didn't give me a single chance. Didn't give the slightest reason.
Then she asked to go to the bathroom; we walked through empty echoing passages and chatted about this and that. And while washing hands, she suddenly asked.
- Doesn't Nikita have a mom?
- What makes you think so? - I laughed. - Of course he does!
- It's just that she never comes to the garden.
- Well, she has other things to do. That's why I always take Nikita.
- Lucky him! - she sighed.
- How is it lucky? - I laughed again.
- No one argues about who takes the child to the garden tomorrow.
Then she looked at me in the mirror, thought and thought, and added.
- Because of that, they forgot to pick me up three times. And the teacher took me home with her. Just don't tell anyone.
- I won't. Did you cry?
- Only the first time. After that, I already became an adult.
* * *
After the New Year holidays, the first thing we saw entering the dressing room was Anfiska. She stood on a stool at attention, and opposite her, also at attention, stood Papa Vitalya with a phone in his hand.
- Ready? - asked Anfiska.
- Ready! - answered Papa Vitalya.
Then she commanded loudly.
- Four and a half minutes! Time starts now! Whoever doesn't make it goes home!
And she started undressing very quickly.
Sad Papa Vitalya obediently stared at the timer.
* * *
I remembered this story yesterday when picking up the kid from kindergarten.
The group under the guidance of an art teacher sat and were finishing drawing cards for February 23rd.
Then we were dressing, and the kid said.
- I have just a little bit left there, to finish coloring the tank.
- And I've finished everything! - boasted Anfiska, who was spinning around nearby.
- Wow! - I said. - You already drew two cards?
- Why two? - she wondered.
- Well how many? You have two dads. You need two cards.
Anfiska thought for a moment, pouted her lip, and said in a vile screeching voice.
- My goooood! With you men, there are always suuuuch prooooblemss!
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I'm playing the computer game "Akinator". The program guesses the word you thought of by asking various questions. So, at one point in the game I was asked: "Does your character have a brain?". I answered: "No" (since I had thought of the word "jack") and immediately received the next question: "Does your character wear a bra?"...