Eighty

[Treadwell]

June 1 came and went with no special fanfare.

On the morning of the third, though, Aloisius and Alice Treadwell wake to a shared realization.

"We both turned eighty years old, Lovey, a couple of days ago, hmph," Tready states as he lights a morning pipe and dresses for his job at the toy shop.

"Do you plan to do something about it, Allie?"

"Nothing besides fetch myself a cake to eat at the shop today while, hmm, I work on some new dolls. I have ideas, hrm hrm, for a new way to sew the hair into their heads better!"

"You ought not do so much at your age, Aloisius! Egbert and Frederick are both young men now--ten-and-six and ten-and-four! Gabriel's not far behind them, and even our Harvey turns eleven next month! That's four boys still living here, what with Gideon and Nicholas both moved out to join the Tubbians years ago. You ought to have the four of them doing more for you than you do!"

"I give 'em enough to do at the store, Dearest, so much sometimes, hm, all I can do is just sit in my chair and do naught but eat all day! Hmph! I am a toymaker! I am, hmph, supposed to be the one making the toys!" Pipe smoke fluffs out in a cloud past Tready's white beard.

"Well, that explains my needing to mend your shirt buttons more as of late. Now, go find you a cake, tell your sons how to make those doll heads, and don't you do anything else today, Mr. Toymaker! Shoo!"