I am telling How I got out to the Dacha with my husband at the present Not an easy time. Difficulties and how it ended up
Dec 28, 2020
We all know that something unimaginable is happening in the world right now, and nevertheless, my husband and I decided to go to the country this weekend. Whatever they say from the TV, the seedlings will not plant themselves, so the issue is not even discussed.
Of course, my daughter-in-law was against it. And I reminded her that like cracking mother's cucumbers and tomatoes in winter, everything is right there, and I, by the way, do not grow them in the bedroom. She invited her to take her grandchildren with her, to which the young people gladly agreed. Well, with God!
We were preparing for almost a day - we collected food, clothes and all sorts of little things for our grandchildren. The daughter-in-law and her son accompanied us as if into exile. They were sure that we either would not make it to the dacha or we would not be able to return. There are roadblocks at all entrances and exits from the city and cars are turned around. I just smiled back - so that Vladik and I (my husband) did not get to the dacha! Such a law has not yet been invented.
At dawn, we plunged into our legendary six and set off. We stopped at a store on the way for a cold beer. My husband's tradition is to drink a misted bottle, and only then carry things, turn on the electricity and deal with other domestic issues.
As soon as we turned onto the bypass, it became clear that the daughter-in-law was right about something. There was a convoy of cars on the horizon, and the oncoming lane was treacherously empty. However, my husband did not even raise an eyebrow, only began to whistle "Boldly comrades in the leg ...", which indicates the utmost combat readiness. The grandchildren, by the way, did not fall silent for a second - the poor fellows had endured for a week within four walls.
We joined the column and crawled for about forty minutes at a snail's speed, until we caught up with the required checkpoint at the exit. We noticed that not all cars were turned back, some were allowed to pass, which gave hope.
And so, the sergeant looked through the open window, introduced himself, asked for documents, which he skimmed through - to clear his conscience, so to speak. I asked for what purpose and where we were going. My husband said that we were going to a dacha, a village such and such. A young policeman rapped something about an order, an emergency and a ban on leaving the city.
My husband became noticeably nervous, but didn’t show it. He calmly said that we could not stay in the city, because we live in a dacha, and we got to the city to see the children, go shopping and all that. The sergeant, don't be a fool, drew attention to the registration in the passport, which clearly indicated the place of residence - the city that we intend to leave. In his next phrase, the word fine was unambiguously expressed, the amount of which was impressive.
My dim-witted husband clarified, just in case, whether it was a banal bribe, but he did it with the tact of a rhinoceros, which made the sergeant even more angry. And then my heart could not stand it. Well, judge for yourself, while we are arguing here, the seedlings are dying! We do not have a new-fangled air-conditioned car, but a six, which, with all its advantages, is basking in the sun like a tin can. Not for that I grew tomatoes in eggshells for a month so that they would dry out on the way.
As I began to shout here: “Let me go, dear man, don't you see - the seedlings are drying up, the grandchildren are tired, and now I have enough blow! We will definitely not go back, and these devils from the back seat will quickly smash your entire checkpoint brick by brick while you draw up the protocol! "
The sergeant turned pale and muttered something about his own two at home, handed us the documents and wished us a happy journey. The parting words sounded, however, somehow unfriendly and unintelligible, but my husband was already pressing the pedal to the floor and flew along the free track on his gear, like on a foreign car.
So we got to the dacha, no matter what. Let's go home the same way. Now we will say that we live in the city. About which there is a registration in the passport.