Chapter 369: Crooked Strike

(13) Crookedly hitting

I thoroughly admired the soothsayer's vision. A rich man like my employer, who has a keen sense of wealth, will never spend money in vain by completely mistaking the target as I thought. It seems that the poet's house really has treasures that he does not know about!

I really regret it, if I knew physiognomy, I would never be confused by the fake birthday on my ID card.

I'm determined to study human physiognomy well.

After passing the calligraphy and equipment, I went up to the craft room and had two options: one was to make a small dress for the rag doll, and the other was to make a handicraft. I thought it would be easier to make clothes for rag dolls, but I remembered the words of the doctor in the instrument room, so I chose to make handicrafts.

The doctor sent me a box of materials and stopped bothering me. I see that other people are just splicing and matching materials randomly, completely ignoring the materials and colors. I saw a bag of dough in it and decided to make a clay sculpture out of it.

Originally, I wanted to make a portrait of a human head, but it looks weird just to have a human head. So I separated the pasted dough little by little and pinched a little pig again. Because my Mr. Bei is a pig.

Although it was very simple and a handiwork, I was able to get through it again on the same day, and the little pig was also packed in a box for me to take home as a gift in the future.

At this time, I regretted it, in that big box of materials, there are Transformers, Iron Train Man, Speed Racers, etc., I have seen my son assemble them, carefully classify and pick them out, and I will definitely be able to assemble a more valuable thing.

When I went back with the piggy gift box, I met the poet, and this time it was a complete coincidence. I smiled and said, "I also know how to do it." Hold up the gift box to him.

We went to the library and waited for the meeting. He sat down and showed him the piglet, "Did you give it to me?" he said, "You still know that I am a pig?"

I was taken aback, could it be that he was from 1959?

I swallowed back the "my husband is a pig" that was about to blurt out. At this time, his face turned red.

I looked at him with a confused look, obviously misunderstood, I really thought I was thinking about him when I pinched the piglet?

However, this is a great opportunity not to be missed, and it is necessary to record some clear conversations anyway.

Last time, the boss had already expressed his dissatisfaction with the same youth poetry meeting that I attended with my eldest cousin. Not revealing one's identity is the minimum requirement, but, the boss doesn't know, I'm not dealing with a psychopath, not a psychopath who can provoke anger so that he can expose himself in anger.

In fact, the kind of people who usually feel like psychopaths are a little bit more among normal people in real life. Especially those women who find out that their husbands are having an affair, when they meet the so-called little three, they are more like mental illness than mental illness!

And a man, even if he is mentally ill, will not expose himself lightly, for them, the short private affairs of the parents, speaking out seems to be too spineless and unmanly.

Besides, visiting men is not my strong point, and my knowledge of the stars is still more effective against sensual women, and rational men may still think I'm naïve in private, right?

Thinking so, I put the piggy gift box in his hand, got up and ran out.