Not a boy, not yet a man

Yet another interlude before the last of the McNamyver posts.

It's Diorraing's first day of secondary school tomorrow.

Deirdre insisted on making a cake for him; she asked him what kind of cake he wanted; he said that he did not want one; she kept at him; insisting.

Eventually he told her to guess. She went with a sponge cake with orange icing- he hated it. She was annoyed.

Based on this mother–son dynamic: he is officially a teenager!

[There would have been party poppers and balloons, but he grunted about us not knowing him.]