If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

But how can I be sure that it's not broken?

If it works, then it's not broken?  - I have a broken heart, but I don't stop working.

It looks not broken?   -  Well, I look not broken, but I don't know how to end the month.

If it does its function, it's not broken?  - Do I do my function? What IS my function in this life?

Once, when I was a child (not that sweet kind of child that you can see in Advertisements where mother gives a candy for good behavior. The other kind,  that of behind the camera, the child who finds out that all candies are fed out to nice children and need to force one for himself) I decided to fix a watch.

If you ask me why, I wouldn't answer. Because I don't answer silly questions. I don't ask you why you breath, do I? Why should you ask me the silly question, then?

I did, because I knew I had to. I was a fixer. It was my function in life. To fix things.

You know, things. Different things.

Like fixing a drink to my elder brother. ( And I am sorry that he vomited, how could I know that machine oil goes bad with martini?)

Or fixing all the unnecessary long hair of the girl who sat in the class before me. (How could I know, that she though that the hair WAS necessary? She even couldn't explain why she thought this, just repeated that that's what she wanted all the way to the principal.)

Or fixing to the wall my teacher's suit. (Glue does it just in no time at all.)

So finding that old watch with a chain, I felt my hands beginning to scratch in anticipation of fixing work.

Don't think that I was so dumb as not to check whether the watch was working. It did. But in very strange manner. It couldn't be right. I wanted to read the time, but the watch face showed the different one each time I glanced at it. I wanted to be sure, and wrote the time that I saw on it and ran to my neighbour to compare to his watch. Of course, the old one was wrong. It was different time.

Then I noticed also that only one hand really worked. Two other just stood almost at the same place.

What would you do being in my pants? Okey, not pants, as they smell from unchanged poo diaper, but my shoes? They don't smell. Well, maybe just a little.  So, what would you do if you were in my place? Why don't you like it? It's nice place. So what there are seven people living here? Does any place have less? Yes? Nah, I don't believe it. It would be too boring to live less than 7 in one room. Nah, you just pull my leg.

Well, you are so funny with your fancy ideas of almost empty places, but I'll continue:

I knew that the watch has to be fixed. So I began to work on it. No! I didn't use this hammer! The watch fell on the floor by itself. Why the hammer? So that I'll have with what to kill flies if they'll sit on the watch when I fix it.

Well, so I worked for a while. I opened, moved things out and in. At the end I closed all three watches and put them on the table. Why three? Oh, you are soo silly! If I have three watch hands, why should I leave them just in one clock. I prepared two more from those funny green papers with people in the middle of them that I found in mother's purse. And so I had three watches. And all three of them showed the same time - 2:15.

Why did I put 2:15? Because I wanted to know when is the dinner time. I wanted to know it every time I looked on watches. That's what  they serve for, don't they?

Anyway, you have to hear this: After all the hard work, you'd believe that parents appreciate you in any way. But they did it in only one too-handy for my taste, way.

Do, help people after this. Fix things for them.

Ha! Not me!