Agnes, bless her cotton socks, was 87 and convinced she was still a spring chicken. “Back in my day,” she’d declare, brandishing her walking stick, “we didn’t have fancy electric scooters! We walked uphill, both ways, in the snow, to school!”
Her neighbor, Barry, a sprightly 72, just rolled his eyes. “Agnes, the only uphill walking you do these days is to the biscuit tin in the kitchen.”
The annual village bake-off was looming, and the theme was “Childhood Memories.” Agnes was determined to win with her “Grandma’s Gingerbread Giants.” Barry, however, was confident his “Toffee Apple Triumph” would blow everyone away.
“Old vs. Bold: Bragging Rights are about to be mine, Barry,” Agnes cackled, stirring her gingerbread dough with surprising vigour. “I bet you a slice of my champion cake that I win.”
Barry, ever the competitor, grinned. “You’re on, Agnes! But when I win, you’re knitting me a tea cozy!”
The day arrived, and the village hall buzzed with excitement. Agnes’s gingerbread men were impressive, towering over the other entries. But Barry’s toffee apples were glistening pyramids of sugary temptation.
The judge, a notoriously fussy baker named Mrs. Higgins, tasted each entry with a discerning frown. The tension was palpable. Finally, she cleared her throat. “And the winner…is young Timmy, with his ‘Chocolate Chip Caterpillar’!”
Agnes and Barry stared in disbelief. Timmy, all of seven years old, beamed as he accepted his blue ribbon. Agnes turned to Barry, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Well, Barry,” she said, patting his arm, “I guess neither of us is bold enough, let alone old. But technically, you still owe me that slice of champion cake!”
