Fries

When I was a child, my mother used to blow up a bowl of pheasant, fruit and the like, to treat or treat us as snacks, and now that our parents are old, our lives are better, and they can't do it, and it seems as if we could ignore the fact that her best friend called me a few days ago and said that she wanted to have fried ash, that she was afraid to buy it on the street, and that she was not feeling well sometimes (she had an intestine operation last year). Last night, after a video of the tremors, it tasted and tasted badly. Today, the old book was found, and the book was improved in its own way. It worked well and tasted sweetly. My husband says you're yelling at your back while you're messing around. I said I'd do it myself for her。