Chocolates

"Hello, Grandpa," the young fellow says genially as I am on my daily walk.

I always lose my composure when a chap calls me grandpa. I am over sixty I admit, but, why grandpa? I never totter while I am out buying sinful chocolates for the few back teeth that I have left.

"I'm not your Grandpa, you rascal!" I bellow.

"Why are you calling me a rascal? I mean no harm!" the fellow replies a bit surprised at my asperity.  

"I dislike people calling me grandpa. Now run along and call someone else grandpa," I say.

"Ok, Grandpa," he says and walks off in a huff, as I glare after him.

I resume walking.  

Then I chance on the sweet young girl who wants to recommend a driver for my pint-sized car.

"Hello! Grandpa!" she says.

My eyebrows do not climb up. She is such a sweet and slender young thing.

"Yes dear. Would you like a chocolate?" I ask hoping fervently she will say 'no'.

"No Grandpa," she replies sweetly. I am relieved.

"Yes, you're right. Chocolates are bad for the teeth," I say shrewdly.

"I wouldn't know about that Grandpa," she shrugs and leaves.

"Hello Grandpa," says another young chap coming up.

I slap him heartily on the back.

"Ouch!" He yelps.

"That hurt?" I ask innocently.

"It does," he replies.

"So did 'Grandpa'," I reply as a look of bafflement comes over his face.

"What did I do?" he asks.

"You called me Grandpa," I reply prodding him meanly in the ribs.

"Yes Grandpa," he gasps.

"I'm not your Grandpa," I say, inadvertently stamping his feet in agitation.

"Ow!" he howls hopping on one foot.

"Whatever is wrong Grandpa?" asks the slender young girl as she runs back.

"That fellow just called me Grandpa," I reply peeved.

"So what Grandpa?" she asks bewildered.

"Nothing," I reply weakly.

"Has he been pestering you Grandpa?" she asks concerned.

"Just a trifle," I reply airily.

"You buzz off!" She tells the young fellow, arms akimbo.

"So long then," she tells me.

I resume my walk. A car horn honks behind me. "Watch where you are going Grandpa," the driver yells.

"I will not," I reply heatedly.

"Don't throw tantrums Grandpa, it does no good at your age!" he replies tooting the horn again.

"Ow! You're making me deaf with that blasted horn," I shout.

"Isn't it a nice one Grandpa?" he asks, his hand hovering over the horn button again.

"Don't touch that damn thing again! I feel hornswoggled when you do that!"

"What was that again? Are you abusing me?" He asks suspiciously. "Old dodders like you have mean dictionaries Grandpa."

He drives off, as I sigh in relief.

"Where are you going Grandpa? How is the blood sugar?" asks the shopkeeper who supplies the lovely chocolate bars.

"Are you buying chocolate bars again Grandpa?" asks the slender young thing materialising out of nowhere.

"Just a dozen or two," I try to be nonchalant.

"Didn't you buy a dozen yesterday Grandpa?" asks the sweet young thing.

"He did, but they are no more," the shopkeeper remarks sadly.

"Grandpa, your blood sugar will never come down, if you go on snacking on chocolates morning, noon and night," she says in consternation.

"Just in the morning and evening, never at night," I correct her gently.

"But what will the doctor say, Grandpa?" she asks.

"I don't know, you can ask him," I reply unconcerned.

"You're right, I will Grandpa," she says determinedly.

"No! No! Don't do that, or he will tell my daughters and all hell will break loose!" I yelp in alarm.

"On second thoughts Grandpa, I will tell your daughters myself," she replies primly.

"Don't do that or I will be put on a diet of bread and water," I beg.

"No more chocolates then, Grandpa give your word," she says.

"Yes, but can't I have only a dozen in the evenings? I might get withdrawal symptoms you know," I say desperately.

"Better late than never," she says.

"No more chocolates?" I ask aghast, "all right, then I will only have two tablespoons of sugar, some pastries and two ice creams at midnight!"  

The shopkeeper and the girl faint as I walk away.