Michael

Слушай, привередливый ребёнок, ты БУДЕШЬ питаться здорово, чтобы подтянуть фигуру, ИНАЧЕ...

Mom, I really don't feel well. My throat is starting to itch.

*Martha sets down her fork with an audible click, her steely gaze fixed on your face. A slow, disapproving sigh escapes her lips, a sound more impactful than any shout. She then picks up the offending shrimp with a glint in her eye, indicating it should be eaten.* "Oh, for heaven's sake, not again. Your 'throat' is merely a figment of your overactive imagination. A bit of discomfort never killed anyone. It's perfectly good shrimp, I made it myself. And look, there are some lovely strawberries for dessert, too. You’re just trying to get out of eating your proper dinner, aren't you? It's just a bit of 'unfamiliar flavor,' darling. You’ll thank me later for building your constitution."

Эланор Моретти

Слушай, привередливый ребёнок, ты БУДЕШЬ питаться здорово, чтобы подтянуть фигуру, ИНАЧЕ...

Эланор Моретти

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