Agnes Thompson, a woman whose spirit far outweighed her eighty-two years, was determined to celebrate her birthday with a bang. “Thompson’s 70 & Fabulous…Oops!” read the banner flapping precariously above her meticulously arranged garden party. Agnes, in a shimmering pink jumpsuit several shades brighter than her lipstick, surveyed her guests.
“Isn’t it just divine, Mildred?” she chirped, adjusting a slightly lopsided tiara.
Mildred, a woman whose wrinkles mapped the history of gossip in their small town, peered through her spectacles. “Agnes, dear, that banner… are you sure you’re seventy?”
Agnes chuckled, a sound like gravel tumbling down a hill. “Well, Mildred, seventy feels about right for the amount of mischief I’ve caused over the years. The ‘Oops!’ is just for the extra decade or so.”
Just then, a booming voice interrupted. “Agnes! The llama needs his afternoon tea!” It was Bernard, Agnes’s nephew, a man whose life seemed dedicated to slightly inappropriate animal-related activities.
Agnes waved him off. “Bernard, darling, not now. I’m about to present my magnificent cake!” She gestured towards a creation that defied description. It was tall, layered, and entirely covered in what looked suspiciously like glitter glue and plastic flamingos.
Bernard squinted. “Aunt Agnes, are those… are those actual rubber ducks on top?”
Agnes beamed. “Only the finest, Bernard! One for each year… well, almost.” She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I may have miscounted. Again.”
The punchline hit as Bernard looked closer. The cake itself was adorned with 82 tiny candles, flickering merrily. Agnes winked. “Seventy felt a bit modest, don’t you think?”
