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How I met an established painter
Yesterday we went to see an exhibition. My wife is a painter, so the whole family is interested in arts, including our 7 year old son who doesn’t really like to stay at home alone. We spent half an hour convincing him that going with us is the best option he had. I was said that the painter is old and established. But he didn’t do contemporary art, he did real art. In this case, when you say, that a painter is established, you assume, that his exhibition would take place in a couple of rooms in a small and dusty gallery, though state owned and situated in the center of the city. And you assume also that luckily he would have a few visitors besides us. The painter was there though it wasn’t an opening. My wife’s mother is a painter also, they knew each other. He recognised my wife and welcomed us. The art was really great, «like from the old masters», as my wife put it. She wondered what technics he used to make some works. «You should ask him», I proposed, but she felt that it was inappropriate. Later I overheard his conversation with a couple of women: he was talking about some interesting effect he made using a piece of sandpaper. I was stunned. This guy is so established that he calmly gives away his secrets, I thought. I was going to break the news to my wife, when I realised that he was talking about how he made his frames.
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Why I had no breakfast
Today my wife refused to cook me breakfast. She said that I needed to take a blood test instead. I had to go to the laboratory on an empty stomach. She believed that I should go and refused to look into other options — for example, taking a blood test tomorrow (tomorrow is always a better day to do something dull and stupid, than today). On the first of January this year I woke up with a fever. I’ve been sick most of the time since. So my wife thought that I should go for a test. My doctor thought the same way. Even my seven year old son agreed with them. So I had to leave the apartment being hungry and angry. All the day I was worried about the results. I haven’t taken a blood test for more than 10 years. Who knows what I would see in it? In the evening I logged on the web-site of the laboratory and learned that my test was not ready yet. I thought is was strange. Why I couldn’t see the results? Maybe the doctors saw something terrible and decided to double check it? During the next few hours I was checking the site every five minutes. Late at night I learned that the test was perfect. It was a disaster. I was disappointed. I missed breakfast. I payed 20 dollars. I fluttered all the evening. And for what? For nothing.
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Waking up
The son woke up at dawn. It was his usual misbehaviour on weekends. He took his pillow, came to the parents' bedroom and occupied the half of the bed. The wife was sick and turned back on him, even in sleep remembering to do anything she could to keep him healthy.
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