Flame Out

Eeough! Glad I decided not to go out
with you! I mean, like, those pants are
really green, aren't they? And the jacket,
bright yellow! They hurt my eyes, said the
fourteen-year-old, diagnosing a truly
repugnant wardrobe choice her errant
grandmother has blithely indulged.

Nice and warm, and that's practical
for a winter-day walk in the woods, comes
the defensive response. A half-indulgent,
half pitying grimace the result. What,
after all, can the young and the sight-sensitive
expect from the aesthetic of jaded,
sartorial-insensitive elderly. They are,
after all, elderly; given to unfortunate
taste lapses. But love forgives all
transgressions.

How many years? Oops, forget the candles,
just choose one big one, the child recommends.
And a cake. Like this one? How about this one?
Chocolate or strawberry, and nice icing designs.
Yum! Grandmothers bake actual cakes.
Granddaughters indulge in the production
of virtual cakes, courtesy of electronic
devices and their uncannily clever apps.

She flicks her adorably pudgy little finger
across the motion-sensitive screen and
voila! The large pillar candle inscribed with
the numerals (!gasp! 74) is aflame, and so
brightly burns those years. Here, grandma,
blow here and pouf - flame out...