I had invited him and his wife to my birthday party. I bumped into him the day before at the village coffee morning and he asked me how old I was going to be. He didn’t wait for an answer, but suggested a figure himself: 21! He looked at me expectantly, chuckling a little. I thanked him for the compliment, but thought I couldn’t allow him to believe that. I whispered I would let him into a secret. The real figure was…33! I had him laugh, now, and I wondered with disgust, why. He passed on to another subject. I took revenge on my birthday when I told my visitors what had happened to me: a courteous gentleman – I wouldn’t give his name – impudently inquiring about my age. One of the wives present recognized who was meant, because he had told her the story already. At the end of the evening he came up to me paying me a mighty big compliment on how young I was looking and kissing me sweetly on my cheek. I returned his kiss and said he had made up for it, now.