Pam had a party at our place a couple of weeks ago. For complicated reasons, there was a present left behind for a member of the group. Let’s call her Barbara. Since Barbara works in the same building as I do, Pam asked me to drop off Barbara’s present on her desk.

I dropped off the present but Barbara wasn’t around. I didn’t bother leaving a note but I did wave at the young lady who was sitting at the desk next to Barbara’s.

A few days later, I happened by Barbara’s desk again and Barbara was there this time. We discussed the present that I’d dropped off and Barbara told me that she’d figured it out from talking to other members of the group.

As we were talking, the aforementioned young lady next to Barbara waved for Barbara’s attention, pointed to me and said “That’s him.”

Barbara told me that, let’s say, Cathy had reported that she’d seen me drop off the present. Unfortunately, Cathy’s description was only “Grey hair with glasses.” That didn’t really narrow the list of suspects.

“Grey hair with glasses” isn’t really the kind of thing that I want for an epitaph. “A stunningly handsome man who made me melt” would have been better for my ego.

When I last heard a stranger’s description of me, it was “A silver-haired gentleman with an accent.” The friend who reported this has called me “The Silver Fox” ever since.