He kept staring at me and frowning. Worry was etched all over that wide-eyed and innocent face of his. He was distracting me from the all important tasks of opening presents and enjoying my coffee.
Finally I gave in and looked down at the little guy, who was snuggled up next to me in bed;
'What's up mate?'
'Mummy?' he asked 'How many are you?'
'I'm 32 buddy'
'Oh,' he paused momentarily before continuing 'So, you're old then'
'Well, not really buddy' I answered, slightly affronted.
'But you're getting old...you have those crinkly things' he points all over my face,
'They're called wrinkles, and I don't have that many'
'Yeah you do - they're all around your eyes and stuff'
'Oh, thanks mate, point taken'
Then the little bugger sighs. Very theatrical, very melodramatic.
'It's just too bad you're going to die soon' Is his parting statement before he rushes off to wreck havoc elsewhere.
I sit dumbstruck by the conversation I've just engaged in. I had no idea that in my early thirties I'd be entering into old age, that I'd be on death's door, but apparently, (according to the ever-knowledgeable Mr 5) it's true.
Happy Flipping Birthday to me.
