Twenty years ago, my parents celebrated their third wedding anniversary in a slightly painful situation. My father sat at the table of the celebratory banquet with his cheeks puffed out, as if he had nuts hidden in his mouth, and a guilty expression on his face. "When he got his teeth, he looked like a squirrel," my mother said in a sinister voice, "but the doctor promised that he would be fine in a week."

"She can speak like that now," the father retorted, "because she knows I can't bite her now." But don't worry. We squirrels have good memories. "To prove that he has a good memory, my father went back five years and told a man who was present and his wife how he and his mother met.

My father, who was 20 years old at the time, was working as an electrical installer for the building, and he had not yet set up his own company, so he was paid for two weeks at a time when he completed a project. Then he lay in bed and recuperated for two days before going to take on another project.

During a carnival, he and a group of friends went to a Romanian restaurant on the beach side of Tel Aviv. The food wasn't very tasty, but the drinks were good, and the gypsy orchestra was fantastic. After his friends were sent home drunk, my father listened to the melancholy melodies of the musicians for a long time. The last customer left, the older shopkeeper insisted on closing, and the father still refused to leave the orchestra. With some flattering words and money, the father persuaded the gypsies to act as his private orchestra that night. They followed him along the beach, playing beautiful music. My drunken father was uncontrollably urinated, so he let his private orchestra play cheerful tunes in response to this permeable event. He then did what people would do after drinking too much alcohol against a nearby wall. "Everything was perfect," he said, with a smile on his squirrel-like cheeks, "the music, the scenery, the gentle sea breeze." ”

A few minutes later, Joy was interrupted by a police car. The police came to arrest my father, who had broken the silence and was demonstrating without permission. It turned out that he had chosen to pee on the Western Wall of the French Embassy, and embassy security officers thought it was a creative act of political protest for a man to pee to the accompaniment of a group of merry gypsy musicians. They immediately called the police. The police pushed my dad into the back seat of the police car, and he happily cooperated with them. The seats were soft and comfortable, and my father was happy to have a chance to take a nap after a long night's fun.

Unlike my dad, the Gypsies were stubborn and refused to be arrested, strongly stating that they had done nothing illegal. The police tried to push them into the car, and during the fight, a musician's pet monkey bit the policeman's head. He woke up my dad with a yell.

My dad, like any curious person, got out of the car to see what was going on. Outside the car, he saw the police and the gypsies engaged in a somewhat comical fight, and behind them, several curious passers-by stopped to watch the rare performance.

A beautiful redhead girl stood in the middle of it. Even through his hazy and drunken eyes, his father could tell that this was the most glamorous woman he had ever seen. He took out an electrician's notebook from his pocket, removed the pencil that was always clipped to his right ear, walked up to his mother, identified himself as Ephraim the investigator, and asked her if she was an eyewitness to the incident.

The mother was frightened and said that she was just passing by by by chance, but the father insisted on jotting down her details so that he could ask her questions later. She gave her father the address. Before Ephraim could say anything else, two frenzied policemen jumped up in front of him, handcuffed him, and dragged him into the car.

"We'll get back in touch." He shouted optimistically at his mother from the moving car. Her mother shivered with fear on the way back and then told her roommate that a serial killer cunningly coaxed her into giving her the address.

The next day, my father came to my mother's door, clear-headed, and holding a bouquet of flowers. She refused to open the door. A week later, they went to see a movie. A year later, they got married.

Five years have passed. Investigator Ephraim no longer works in the electrician, and his mother has not had a roommate in a long time. But on special occasions like wedding anniversaries, my father would take out a special bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, the kind offered by a long-closed Romanian restaurant, and pour everyone a glass. "The doctor said she could only eat liquids for the first week, and she was referring to soup, not that thing."

As everyone clinked glasses, the mother whispered to the child in her arms.

"Watch out, Mom. I have heard everything," said my father, pouring a sip of whiskey between his bulging cheeks, "and in ten days I will be able to bite again." ”

The man got out of my parents' house and got into a taxi. His wife said that how the husband and wife met hinted at what kind of life they would live together in the future. "My parents," she said, "were fascinated when they met, and then they lived like they were at a carnival." ”

"What about us?" The man asked. I fell in love with my wife at a nightclub. I was about to leave when she walked in. Until then, we've only been general acquaintances. "I'm leaving," I cried as we passed by the door, trying to drown out the loud music, "I must get up early to-morrow." ”

"Kiss me." She replied loudly to the man. He froze. He didn't know her very well, but she had always seemed shy, so her request was completely unexpected.

"Maybe I can stay a little longer." I say.

A week later, they became a couple. A month later, he told her that the "kiss me" she said by the door of the nightclub was the boldest thing I had ever heard from a girl. She looked at the man and smiled. "I'm saying you can't get a taxi." She said. It's great, it's the man himself who misunderstands her.

"We?" His wife thought for a moment in the taxi, "The way we met is our way of life. Our life is one way, but you always recreate it into something more interesting. That's the way a writer works, right? ”

The man shrugged, feeling like she was slightly blaming himself. "I'm not complaining," the man's wife said, kissing him, "I've earned it." ”

"How old were you then?" Shanshan lay on top of Yixuan.

"About three or four years old? I also forgot. Yixuan buried his head in the cup.

"Do you remember who the man who listened to your father's story was?"

"He? It's like ......."

"Lin Qing is ......"