Awww… guys, you shouldnt have. Francis Louise Frankie Foster blew out the 23 candles on her cake. Shed almost forgotten today was the day, and was expecting the usual drudgery. So, the party had been a pleasant surprise.
Well, the credit really goes to Mac here. Wilt, a tall, gangly, and almost supernaturally-polite creature, placed his one hand on the 8-year-olds shoulders. He found out when your birthday was when the two of you were re-filing all those records that somehow wound up crumpled up and lying around the lobby.
The boy smiled. It was nothing, really. You deserve it for everything that you put up with.
The lovely titian-haired young woman blushed. I… I really dont know what to say.
Frankies grandmother, Agatha, as lively today as shed been in her youth, supplied the answer. Say… LETS PARTY!
Several exhausting hours of dancing and party games later, it came time to open her gifts.
Mr. Herriman, the lagomorphic majordomo of the house, gave her a day-planner (to prevent any further lollygaggery, hed said; Frankie already had a 512-MB PDA but was too polite to point it out). Wilt bore an array of scented bath salts; Eduardo, the hulking-yet-lovable monster, a homemade beaded seat cushion; Coco, an odd, manic creature that seemed to be the illegitimate offspring of a duck, a palm tree, and a 747, had laid an egg that contained the massage chair shed been coveting. Mac contributed a pint of homemade ice-cream containing Madame Fosters own cookie dough.
Finally, Madame Foster handed over a tiny box. Here… this is for keeping me young all these years.
She opened it.
Grandma… these are the keys to your car.
No, dear… theyre Continue reading