Middle-Aged

“Look, Cyril! I made a burger-shaped cake for Mom and Dad’s birthday, isn’t it amazing?”

“… Sure, Cleo. It’s, er… beautiful.”

When I step into the living room, there’s a literal party waiting for me. The kids have set the table, Shanna is here, and there are drinks and food prepared for each of us. And there’s Loladorada on the table, napping. I just have to take a picture.

Lola doesn’t see a problem with standing up right in the middle of Cleo and my conversation.

Cyril doesn’t care all that much about the conversation at all.

“Oooookay, I think it’s time to cut the cakes, don’t you?”

Without a single comment on its appearance, I blow the candles on my birthday cake. I’m happy Cleo made the effort. And it’s not like I could do better at her age.

Hugo got the pretty cake.

It’s the only one of the two cakes we plan on eating.

The party is over — everybody’s going to the swimming pool.

Count on Nounou to eat the burger cake nobody wanted.