A Grandad, moi?...

I couldn't swear to this but I'm almost certain I heard the word "Grandad" when walking past a group of late teens girls this evening on my way home. Nothing wrong with that you may think, unless that is it was directed at me. Yes I'm almost certain that it probably was directed at me and however hard I try to blot it out with think bubbles like "...of course it wasn't she could have been talking to her friends about her own dear old Grandad.." or "...she said grand town (maybe refering to Tonbridge or somewhere else)..." However much I tried to think like that, it was there. She looked me in the face, like a cheeky so-and-so and uttered the words "..Hello Grandad." I briefly had a Robert Deniro moment, looked around and thought "...you, talking to me...well there's no one else here!.." but sure enough it was me she was talking to. I thought of the obvious quip of "Sod off fatty!" which would have been fair in the circumstances as she was rotund to say the least. But all I could manage was a half-hearted sarcastic smile, as if to say to her "My God that was witty!" What stopped me saying more? Well probably part shock, part doubt that she was refering to me and, not a small part, not wanting to be the victim of a Happy Slapping attack. Or in her case it would have been a Happy Slapper attack! It's alright I can say it now because she's now three miles away probably! If she's out there, I'm 44; so I suppose it is technically possible that I could be a Grandad, but God forbid, not just yet!...