My mum has always disliked being the centre of attention. So when No 1 Daughter arrived at the Chinese restaurant the other night with a bag full of party hats, balloons and other goodies for Nana to dress up in as part of her 80th birthday celebration I thought it might backfire and be a little upsetting.
In fact the feeling I felt in the pit of my stomach right at that particular moment was akin to what you get when you discover your wife/partner is loose somewhere in Farmers with the credit card. Trepidation.
Luckily, I needn't have worried. Big Momma threw on a silly hat, a feather boa and some Dame Edna glasses and entered into the spirit of the occasion with enough gusto to keep her grandchildren satisfied and her own two sons breathing sighs of relief in unison.
Things could have gone south at one point when the restaurant staff got the attention of everyone in the place when they surprised with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday, albeit with a distinctive Chinese twang, but luckily the wontons were of sufficient quality to keep everyone firmly in their seats and smiles firmly on faces.
In fact, the birthday dinner was but one occasion where Big Momma was taken out of her comfort zone as the centre of attention during my visit.
As is the case with birthday catch-ups around this age I'm sure, there was quite a bit of driving around viewing the sights and grabbing a cuppa and a wee when the need arose. Come to think of it that's my age, not just those over 57.
The day after the restaurant sing-song, myself, Big Momma and No 1 Daughter found ourselves in a small suburban cafe where we knew the owner.
We enjoyed the mandatory cuppa and we're making headway in what I have to say was a pretty good chicken roll each, when our host appeared for a chat.
The normal niceties of conversation ensued until the woman remarked on my mother's appearance.
"You have lovely skin," she said to Big Momma who by this stage was, well, starting to go a little red around the edges but I suspect actually enjoying the attention.
"What is your skin care regime?" asked the woman.
The question drew a lengthy response from my delighted mother and I must admit I disappeared into my mind and the remnants of my chicken roll as it continued.
I was deep in Delicious Soft Bread Valley, slowly picking my way through Lettuce Forest down to Mayonnaise River, when a steady tapping sound caused me to look up - mid-munch.
Outside on the footpath, directly in front of the window seat my mother occupied, was a rather nattily dressed fellow who, without intending to be unkind, was fairly obviously a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
And he was tapping on the window and pointing at my mother.
Completely oblivious to the fellow's situation, my mother smiled and waved back as the cafe owner explained the bloke was a regular in the area and was pretty harmless.
She waved for him to move on. He waved back.
My mother smiled and waved. He took off his hat, smiled and waved back.
The owner tapped on the window from the inside and motioned for him to move on. He tapped on the window from the outside and waved back. Again.
At this point I had just about finished my delicious chicken roll and was thinking I may have to go outside and ask the bloke to move off so as not to cause embarrassment.
Perhaps sensing the moment had passed, the fellow bowed, smiled at my chuffed mum and waved again as he moved off.
The brief interaction was a cause for much laughter as we drove off later. I swear I heard someone in the car (who shall remain nameless) say "I've still got it".
Next day we were again in the car travelling around looking at all the places and things mum hadn't seen in a while when discussion turned to the events of the previous day at the cafe.
I asked if she had been embarrassed.
It turns out she hadn't felt that way at all. In fact she appears to have quite enjoyed all the attention.
How do I know?
When I asked where she would like to go for a cuppa, she wondered - a little too innocently if you ask me - if we could go back to the café from the day before.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com (Kevin Page in subject field) .