Пока Фрося хлопотала вокруг стола, я хвастался своей...

While Frosya was busy around the table, I boasted about my overseas wine collection. From different overseas countries, I brought in beautiful multi-colored bottles: rum, cognac, gin, whiskey, calvados, absinthe, vermouth, plum brandy, or Hungarian unicum ... And cognacs were also different varieties: now martel, either Camu or Pliska. “Choose, Abutalib, what do you want to drink?” “Rasul, remove all this rubbish, clean it. Treat me if you want me with ordinary vodka. Vodka is good not only because we know her, but also because she knows us. What you show me may be very tasty, but all these bottles came from far away, they speak in other languages ​​unknown to me, and I do not speak a language that will be understood by them. What about habit and character? No, we do not know each other at all. These bottles look like unfamiliar guests, with whom you first need to talk, meet, eat a pound of salt. I am afraid that we will not understand each other. Leave them for your friends - Moscow writers. Leave them for those who have forgotten the taste of food prepared by their mother in their home hearth ...