No, I will not bring flowers or cake.
Cake will be there.
Neither Tim nor I act our age. How, exactly, does one do so when everybody significantly younger than us seems at times to be an idiot? And will end up still being an idiot when they hit our age.
If we act any age at all, it is someone else's.
I like to think that I act like a teenager who is mature beyond his years.
Someone you would love to meet, because I am vibrant and lively.
An upstanding young man, who will go far.
Feel free to encourage that fantasy.
In another ten weeks it will be my birthday. At which time you may congratulate me, and exclaim "my, how you've grown!"
I will be duly flattered, especially if you say I am now quite a fine fellow.
Why, I'll be going away to college soon!
No, I don't need any cake. It excites my gout.
Which I will not mention at the time.
And just like this evening, I will take a wee slice to be sociable.
Cake is such a happy word. It has lovely connotations.
But truth be told, I would rather have a nice young thing snogging me than cake.
We can pretend that it's cake.
Strawberries and icing!
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