The envy in the village there was always a lot ...
Aunt Rita was ugly. She lived in our apartment. She did not interfere with anyone: never cried and did not hurt. But when in the morning she appeared in the corridor of our three-bedroom apartment, annoyed everyone, even a cat. By the way, he often slept on her chest, and she sincerely believed that he "takes her illness." Although, what disease she had to take, I was incomprehensible.
How old was she, I didn't know at that time, I was embarrassed (somehow I asked one woman, I think young, but with golden teeth, like an old woman, how old she was. That evening I stood in the corner For inappropriate behavior).
At these rita there was no half hair. Even before retirement, she worked at the construction site: I carried the construction trash, painted the walls. Once Peter Pavlovich left an open jar with paint on the forests. Will the case of the case, the same bank pleased aunt in the head. At first the head was soapy gasoline. Then something else. As a result, the hair with a dried paint on them had to crash with manicure scissors. Rumor, Aunt Rita then cried. Since then, Peter Pavlovich, she called the "small stone." And I did not understand why only the eyes.
The skin was like a crumpled parchment for baking. The skin is soft, with hairs, like me, the aunt was absent. It was exactly paper! I thought everything: "I'll take this paper for the scissors, see what inside. But for some reason I guess that they would scold me, and did not fulfill my plan.
That before the responsibilities of aunt Rita, there were almost no. She lived on a claw in the kitchen. Under the table, she put her chest: she caught from the village, Mom said. Sometimes a cat slept on it. In the chest, there were plenty of treasures: a necklace with blue stones without one eye, white lace napkins (for some reason hard). Another white dress was ever, in which aunt was going to marry.
When she told me her story, I imagined myself a bridegroom, who did not wait for his bride and came rang for her, carried it on his hands and took it to the registry office. But it was so.
That morning aunt stroked the dress. The very, lace, white-dairy, as she spoke herself. And some kind of stupidity distracted! The iron remained on the fabric - a brown stain on the Podol.
"A faithful sign to unfortunate," thought still ritka and that day did not come from the house.
She was sure that she did well. But when all his friends were already given birth, I realized that she was smoothed. The envy in the village there was always a lot.
Since then, Aunt Rita lived alone. Children, cats loved, kept cattle. When it all at all, Mom brought her here, to us, - to become more.