(prompt: 'day' - 20/9/2019)

"Good morning! Wake up sleepy-head Ted. It's our birthday, today!"

The growl starts deep - way deep - inside. "Who do you think you're calling sleepy-head? ME? The person who's the 'someone' who has to keep their eyes open at all times?"

"Ohh c'mon Ted. Don't get your fur in a frizz!" And I kiss his head, because he's right, of course. Ted Bear Esq. is rarely wrong about anything known to Man or beast. But he is a grumble-bum when he first wakes up, even though I can only imagine how tough it is to sleep with your eyes open. He's always been able to do that, ever since we first met.

I go a bit mushy whenever I think about that long ago day. Over SEVEN decades - when he was new and I was two. (Yes, yes, I know! You've all heard that before. SHHH!) We're uncommonly proud of our longevity - of Life and Love. Ted has a label on his neck that says he was 'Made in Great Britain', so he's not your average, one-of-a-million- clones-types. And I was made in Australia and I'm not your average anything-much-you-can-think-of-type, either.

"Hey Ted! Remember the early years when our big sister Jenny would go to bed early with us to read a bed-time story?"

Ted nods sagely, and would roll his eyes if my micro-stitches had not secured his second pair so well. "Ohh yes. I remember all right. She'd fall asleep instead of us - until you gave her an almighty nudge and a loud complaint."

"And I'd press your belly button and tell her you were growling because you were disgusted, as well." We chortle a bit over that one when we reminisce.

Suddenly Ted gets his anxious face on. "Mum? If it's our birthday, I feel bad. I don't have a pressie for you." I swear there's almost a sob in his voice.

"No-no-no, you silly old duffer. You keep forgetting what I've told you SO many times—"

"I know. I remember now," Ted interrupts, puffing up his chest as best he can these days. "YOU AND I ARE OUR BEST GIFT TO EACH OTHER." And his eyes twinkle. They really do. Ahh... but this old bear is SO huggable. That's why he has trouble puffing up his chest these days. It's a serious case of over-loving and clutching-tightly-ness, but he's not complaining.

"All I ask," he says in his firmest tone of voice, "...is that you don't cover the birthday cake in coconut like that time with young Nicky. Do YOU remember THAT party?"

I close my eyes and my head nods the firmest 'yes'. Ohh dear! Will I ever forget when I turned the light back on after the candle-blowing-out bit, and the whole table and all the kids around it wore a layer of coconut? Ted and I shake our heads in unison. In a word - NO!

That's the one benefit of Ted having lost his growl after that terrible bout of influenza some decades ago... I'm the only one who can hear him any more, so the secret of the snow-storm cake can rest forever in OUR memory closet.