Were not were. Alexander Kolosov

like such and such or such and such an artist. Our Maestro, of course, is mortally offended at first, but when he is offered a double or triple price, he still agrees. Because he understands very well that in our country reputation and name mean nothing. And that means only money, on which this very reputation is created. The most expensive. The most sold. The most successful. Well, what can I say – two worlds, two extremes.

      Girl without complexes

      With false eyelashes and no panties. Amazing self esteem.

      Delicate person

      Arriving at sea, he found that his wife was snoring. Unpleasant surprise on honeymoon. Hearing in the middle of the night the monstrous sounds made by a rather slender and in daylight even very pretty creature, which was his chosen one, the first night he struggled with the desire to wake her up and tell her the whole truth about her snoring, on the second night he wanted to strangle her with a pillow, and on the third I was going to divorce her. Finally, after three sleepless nights, he went to the pharmacy, a secret from his wife, bought earplugs and has been living with her soul to soul ever since. That’s what a delicate person means.

      Dementia

      Wife to husband. “Today you need to deliver a note from me to Vera. Come to her room 205 at 11 o’clock, she is just having a break between couples, she is waiting for you. “And who is Vera? I know her?” “You introduced us. Have you forgotten? “What are you doing! Do you know what my memory is! “I know. Holed like a colander. You suffer from dementia.” “And what is it?” “senile dementia. Or don’t you remember? “Well, how, how, I remember very well. Dementia! What a word! But I don’t have it. Exactly. Otherwise, I would have remembered it.”

      An hour later, husband and Vera. “Excuse me, but who are you?” “I am Vera, your wife’s friend. Don’t you remember?” “How, how, I remember very well. I have business for you. I have to give you something. That’s just what? I don’t remember, – he feverishly pats his pockets, – That’s a memory, everyone would like this. Remembered! Well, exactly! How, how. I have to give you dementia, but in which pocket I put it, I’ll never know.”

      A day in the life

      White tablecloth. Flawless white porcelain. White wine. Cheese with white mold. White grapes. White cool shade. White sand at the edge of the sea. White lambs of the waves. White clouds in the sky whitened from the heat. Another day in the life of a “white” man.

      Rustic hospitality

      The apples were on the table. Yellow and red. The table stood in the middle of a hut, naked as a baby, like a throne in a temple. Surrounded by the aroma of ripe fruit, in a thick and impenetrable veil of shadow, and outside the flames of a summer day raged. Bumblebees and bees hummed in the garden. Daggers of white-hot beams burst dangerously through the closed shutters, smoking with rage in the cold, creaking twilight of the old house. A loaf of rye bread darkened among the apples, and a long-necked jar of milk, covered with a towel, proudly rose. Real gifts of the transubstantiation of a fertile summer, offered to us by the very providence of rural hospitality.

      Rooster

      Chickens are usually despised, considered the most brainless creatures in the world. If they want to offend someone, then they directly compare it with a chicken. Or with a rooster. What is even more offensive – for men. But there is always an exception to every rule. It’s about a rooster who cheated his death. Neighbor Galya, nicknamed “summer resident”, in the village only had chickens for the summer: in the spring she bought chickens, and in the fall she slaughtered them for meat; she kept only laying hens, and closer to the middle of summer, when they began to lay, she bought them a rooster. All summer with their eggs, and back to Moscow already with their meat. And so every year, until one day there was an embarrassment: a rooster, watching how his chickens were killed right in front of him, one after another, got scared; realized that his death from the butcher’s knife was waiting for him and fled, flying into the neighbor’s yard. As Galya did not look for him, she could not find him. She spat in her hearts and drove off to her Moscow, closing the season. A rooster a couple of days later showed up in a neighbor’s chicken coop, where it safely overwintered and even came to the yard. It would seem that life is a success: trample chickens and know yourself crow. An, no. In the spring, the summer resident Galya returned. And not alone, but with a fresh brood of chickens, which soon grew up and turned into neat young chickens. The cock, looking at them, went completely crazy: he abandoned his chickens and kept rushing to Galya’s yard – to trample on her chickens. When she bought them a rooster, he pulled it up, not tolerating a competitor. In the end, he moved back to her. He exhausted everyone, but he achieved his goal – he again became Galina’s rooster. Despite the fact that at the end of the summer season, death awaits him. But what is love without mortal risk. Even the roosters.

      Village

      Since we are talking about a rooster, it’s just right to find a couple of words for a pig. The saleswoman Lyubka somehow broke off happiness. The truth is not happiness, but a pig, but what a pig! Other villagers will live their whole lives, but they will never learn to behave like people. And this pig did not need to learn. Clean and without words understands everything. Clever is just awful. Well, real person. She found it by accident: a car knocked down a piglet near her yard, and she picked it up and carried it to the barn, not hoping that it would survive. And take the piglet and get well, then independently got out and showed up to her straight into the hut. Just like any cat. He even had the most suitable color for this – black. It’s wonderful, and that’s all. Well, what kind of pig is it? The pig is big, pink and dirty, like the neighbor’s boar Borka. And this one is small, thin and black. Real pet. For the soul. Although she also had something to hide, a tail, a piglet and hooves. Just like a real pig. Neighbors, seeing such happiness of Lyubkina, involuntarily became envious, and decided to spoil it for her. They came to her without an invitation and announced that it was not a pig at all, but a mini-pig: the animal is so terribly expensive and overseas, and it probably has an owner. Lyubka is an honest person, she does not need someone else’s good for nothing. She wrote an ad and posted it on the door of the general store where she works. So, they say, and so, a piglet, black, mini-pig was found, the owner is wanted. A day later, an unfamiliar pockmarked woman with a bag comes to her store and announces: “My, they say, piglet.” Well, Lyubka gives it to her and asks: “What do you need, such a slut, this overseas miracle Yudo in the household?” And she answered: “Yes, I bought it on occasion from my hands. For meat. I’ve been fattening for the third month, and he, the parasite, doesn’t grow a damn thing. And, which is characteristic, he behaves in a completely un-swinish way: he runs away from the barn and everything rushes into the house like a madman; he walks only along the paths and is terribly curious, like a small child – he cares about everything. I don’t know how the further fate of this very mini-pig turned out, they made lard or jelly out of it, but Lyubka is still in shock. You have to be such a dense person to take a rare pet for an ordinary pig. One word – “village”.

      Tree

      It was an old pear, fairly worn by time. She grew up in the backyard and under her shadow grew more than one generation of the inhabitants of the grandfather’s house. The best place in the whole wide world. In the spring, when the pear blossomed, we played in its shade, and in the summer we sat on the branches all day long and ate the still green fruits, and these were the most delicious pears in my life. When autumn came, it was always mourning for the best days of the year: the pear dropped its leaves, and we were forcibly separated from it and sent to school. Only on New Year’s Eve did we meet again and rejoiced at the opportunity that had happened to spend the entire winter holidays together again. Only now the branches served as a place for hanging homemade bird feeders for bullfinches and tits, and around the trunk they made a snowman and played snowballs and drove each other on sleds. And so from year to year,