In a gray house

FEAST DINNER AT THE END OF THE SEVEN DAY On the cherished day, Sunday, household members are nervous. You need to do something with yourself, with your wife, with your children, in the end. The forgotten word “event” pops up in my puzzled head. It is too tempting to please everyone at once with some collective action. Dangers, like pitfalls, are not visible to the eye. It's just too boring when your children are led in a round dance by a couple of decorated freaks in huge shoes.

RESPOND TO THE MORNING CRY FROM THE CHILDREN’S ROOM WITH A SHORT “BRUNCH!” kah. It’s even worse if they force you to sing. No free snack in this case will help you come to your senses. And my wife urgently needs to go to the store. Because she, poor thing, had been waiting all week to buy that very short skirt, without which spring would not be spring. Money in wallet. And the wallet is in my pocket. It’s clear who has the pocket.

Sunday brunch destroys financial reserves forever. A special holiday lunch for the whole family at the end of the seven days. You can, of course, go to a restaurant. In some of them they really try to organize a sort of gastronomic break-away hour under a plausible pretext. But the trouble is that you can eat a hearty meal on an ordinary day. No one will interfere, and build-

Eating in style is only possible in an expensive hotel. The dream of Nice or Biarritz is still relevant. You wake up, wash your face, and in response to the morning cry from the nursery (about food, of course), say a short “Brunch!”