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She's ready to attack. Fingers scratch. Fists punch. Feet kick. Face goes down. "Hey, Poppa, wanna lick?" "Table-manners-be-darned! Aria, my little angel! With a face full of frosting, filling and cake crumbs, how could I not give you a big smooch!" "Come, Poppa. Come kiss me." Grins and laughter all around. Cake covered fingers soon massaged my scalp. Recognized Author Notes The photo is of Aria (third grandchild) on her first birthday. I originally wrote this for the 60 word dash contest, then thought it didn't have all the components for a story. Posted it separately.

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