“I can’t believe you left one of them standing. You’re not so old that you can’t manage it. I didn’t even put the tricks ones on your cake.” She glowers at me, almost menacingly. Lucky I’m immune to her glares. “Have another crack.” She obliges as the rest of us sing.
She picks up the knife. “Don’t touch the bottom or you’ll have to kiss the nearest boy,” calls out one of her friends. There is movement as all her admirers shuffle closer.
“What are you doing over there?” she asks me as I slide a little further back.
“She said ‘boy’, and clearly I’m a ‘man’.”
“You won’t be so sure of that when I’m finished with you,” she teases, waving the knife suggestively in my direction. I let out a big, belly laugh.
Pushing the knife firmly into the bowels of the dessert, she deliberately taps the blade firmly against the glass plate beneath it. Then she confidently saunters in my direction and whilst brandishing the sharpened steel, leans forward for a kiss.
There is a mixture of derision and giggles as the pantomime plays out.
Happy birthday, baby!
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