З життя
Чому я обрав іншу дружину?
Чому я поміняв свою дружину на іншу?
Я знову помив посуд, який пролежав у раковині три дні. Не залишилося навіть чистої чашки. Чекав і чекав… Що робити? Повернувся додому з роботи, голодний, роздратований і втомлений. Щоб щось поїсти, мусив спочатку помити всі тарілки й чашки, які постійно були брудні в моїй кухні.
Холодильник майже порожній, їжа закінчується. Я тільки-но ввімкнув чайник, поставив каструлю на плиту з водою. Принаймні можу зварити сосиски, які ще залишилися. Я дуже голодний. Не думав, що знову колись доведеться так страждати. Мрію про курячий бульйон! Шкода, що не вмію готувати такий суп.
Коли моя дружина була ще вдома, вона готувала смачні, пухкі й наповнені різними начинками пиріжки, соковиті реберця і різні страви. Вдома завжди був порядок і чистота. Коли повертався з роботи, усе сяяло. Навколо запах свіжості. А тепер…
Чому я раніше цього не помічав і не цінував? Здавалося, що моїй дружині Оксані нічого не потрібно, окрім прання, прибирання та приготування їжі…
Одного дня я побачив Олену. Красиву жінку в короткій спідниці, на високих підборах. Вона виходила з салону краси. Доглянута, єдина у своєму роді та неповторна. Тоді мені здавалося, що вона саме та, про яку я мрію.
Оксана не ходила в салони краси, не витрачала гроші на волосся, не любила фарбуватися. Хоча вона також була дуже стрункою і красивою дівчиною, просто не захоплювалася всіма тими жіночими речами. Завжди в джинсах і кросівках. Виходила тільки до магазину і на роботу, не сумувала за іншим життям.
— Я закохався в іншу! — сказав я своїй дружині, коли повернувся додому.
— Хочу бути щирим, не хочу тебе обманювати.
Оксана вдавала, що не чує, що я їй кажу, і не переставала збивати вершки на торт. Навіть не оглянулася. Я не помітив сліз, що текли з її очей…
Вона постійно була втомлена, і я більше не бачив у ній привабливої жінки, з якою одружився — лише домогосподарку. Напевно, саме тому Олена мене так привабила, і зрештою я з нею зв’язався.
Дружина мене залишила і переїхала до матері. Тепер я мию посуд, прибираю підлогу і вчуся готувати. Іноді мені сняться пиріжки моєї дружини.
Моя нова партнерка має свіжий манікюр, тому не може мити посуд. Вона весь час сидить на дивані, переглядає журнали, ходить до перукаря, щоб змінювати зачіски. На підлозі лежать кілька суконь, а через її взуття я вже кілька разів перечепився. Вона не знає, що вдягнути до салону, адже це для неї найважливіша проблема. Вдома нічим не займається, навіть залишила брудні склянки на столику, де робила макіяж. Вона зробила з мене свого слугу, навіщо мені така жінка?
Чому я поміняв свою дружину на таку ледацюгу? Не можу собі пробачити, що зробив непоправну помилку.
Мушу щось приготувати, дуже голодний…
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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