In the northeast, after three rounds of drinking, it is commonly known as the moment when "God is the boss and my second child". I also believe that all the wine tables have the same situation, and when they are in place, they begin to talk nonsense. This is where just people will appear. These righteous people, relatives or friends, who may be pillow people or good brothers, will come to puncture your cowhide. And you are sad and helpless, with a red face and a white face, but your mouth is shut. Blown cowhide will be blown out on your knees, and your heart will be mixed, unlike the high spirits when you were salivating just now. I can't wait to find a crack to shrink back and then rotate quickly. Is there room for everything? This is a good mood for three moments.