It's picture day at school, and Tertius is planning his wardrobe.
"Do you have a sweater vest in my size?" he asks, inexplicably. I'm not even sure I have one in my size, although I do recall sending a 20-year-old gift one to the Salvation Army recently because I'd only worn it, oh, never.
"I haven't been your size for many years," I inform him.
"Yeah," chimes in Secundus, "and they didn't have sweater vests in prehistoric times."
"Paleolithic," murmurs Primus, but now I know they're trying too hard to get another blog mention.
And this, in a post that appears on a significant birthday for my mother. I won't mention which one, partly because I'm a gentleman, but mainly because nobody would believe me. I just hope I got her genes when it comes to defying time. Happy birthday, Tricia.
And happy birthday, too, to Rhys Bowen.