a sign of the times

“That’s a sign of the times” she says. We’re looking in the bathroom cabinet.  “You’ve got your young man’s fancy perfume next to your old man’s dodgy back cream.”

I haven’t bought young man’s fancy perfume since I was a young man. In my defence, this bottle was bought on a whim.  And not by me.

We're in a large department store in the city centre around the time of my birthday.  Anniemay's creeping around, her hand hovering over her handbag, much like Burt Lancaster in Gunfight at the OK Corral.  Eventually she reaches for her credit card.

I have a problem when she asks what I want for my birthday. I've reached an age where, apart from world peace and an end to hunger and poverty, I have everything I could possibly want.  Really.   More than enough cameras, guitars, books and records to last what’s left of my life time.

And although another tube of back cream would be more useful, I nod at the blue and red bottle.  It’s worth it for the look on her face.