It was a particularly beautiful, shining, ideal day to be cross.

And why shouldn't he be? Those nasty Sackville-Bagginses were at it again. Sackville! Even the name sounded perfectly pilfer-ish. Bagging is all fine and dandy, but no one that has anything to do with sacking can ever be up to any good. It's certainly not a respectable pastime. It was a perfect opportunity to be cross, and yet, he couldn't make himself cross today. It was simply too much fun to play with Lobelia, and there was simply too much to look forward to.

He'd just been getting ready to send out the invitations to his fifty-first birthday. To think, it had been nearly a year since he'd first set out for that Lonely Mountain! All starting with that gray old wizard, Gandalf. What a shock for the poor Hobbit, learning that fireworks were the least that wizard could do! As his quill glided easily over the blanched parchment, Bilbo allowed himself to get lost in his musings. He remembered it all...the good and the bad. Memories that he would never forget. Friends that would always have a place in his heart. He soon found himself glad of the fact that he was nearly through with the invitations, because he felt that if he dwelt on the subject much longer, his hand might start to tremble. And it simply wouldn't do to send out splotchy, untidy invitations.

It took a bit longer than expected to get all the letters properly folded and sealed in their envelopes, mostly because he was fumbling dreadfully with them. When he finally did, he stacked them up in a neat pile and tapped the edges against the desk to straighten them out. Now, all that was left was to go out and mail them. At this point, the Hobbit finally felt that he had gotten a rein on the memories again, and his hands were much steadier as he opened the circular, green front door to his cozy Smial. He set his hairy feet outside and shut the door behind him, then turned around with a content smile, expecting to feel the full warmth of the sun on his face, reflected in the lush, ideal condition of the green grass swaying all around him.

Instead, he felt the sneer of a most unpleasant face gazing on him. His eyes, which had been closed against the heat of the sunlight, opened just wide enough to create a half-lidded frown. "...Good morning, Lobelia," he sighed. The greeting was more obligatory civility than anything else, and he just barely resisted the urge to add, Have you finished using my spoons, yet? He was still convinced that she was the one who had stolen them. She always did have an eye for his silverware.

Mrs. Sackville-Baggins sniffed, as though he'd just said something terribly rude. "Good morning, Master Baggins," she said stiffly, craning her neck from the other side of the fence.

They stood there in stubborn silence for a few moments. Mrs. Sackville-Baggins looked like she expected him to approach the fence near the mailbox, probably eager to nose into his business and see what he was mailing, but he would not take a single step down the hill until she was far enough away to the point where he could no longer sense her prying eyes.

"What have you got there?" she asked at last, breaking the silence. Filled with a sense of triumph over not having been the first to speak, Bilbo resolved to step down towards the mailbox after all, until he was face-to-face with his dear cousin in-law.

He chuckled a little, then fixed her with a smirk, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Those are invitations to your birthday, aren't they?" Lobelia demanded, scrunching up her face most unpleasantly. "I know it's coming up."

"How thoughtful of you to remember."

"Well, you may as well give me my invitation right now, Bilbo. No need to waste money mailing it when I'm standing right here..." she eyed him suspiciously. "...not that you really have the need to be frugal, what with all that...you know..."

Bilbo knew full well that she was referring to the rumors of the alleged "mountains of gold" he was hiding in his Smial, but he took great pleasure in tilting his head and playing the fool, "I do beg your pardon?"

Lobelia shook her head and plastered on a forced-looking smile, "Oh, nevermind. Just hand me the invitation and I'll be on my way..."

"Ah. Of course," Bilbo simpered, shuffling through the envelopes for an extremely nonexistent one addressed to the Sackville-Bagginses. "...hmm, that's strange. It's not here." He gave an innocent shrug. "Must've left it inside. You'll forgive me, I hope? I've been rather absentminded lately, afraid it's all my fault."

Lobelia made another ugly face, brushing a strand of curly dark hair behind her ear and toting her lime green parasol a little higher. She seemed to read between the lines. "Oh. That's quite alright. I really should be on my way, though, Otho is waiting."

"Right then. Have a lovely day," he replied, not meaning a single word of it and waving her off. When at last she disappeared from sight, he couldn't help but smirk again. He knew the only reason Lobelia wanted to be invited to any party of his was simply so that she could say she was invited, and also so that she and her husband could barge into his home and survey his property as though it already belonged to them. After all, Bilbo's silverware wasn't the only thing those Sackville-Bagginses were after.