It was after Thanksgiving, but before Christmas when my wife and I went to Friendly’s for dinner. Friendly’s for those of you who don’t live in New England is a chain of restaurants famous for a large selection of delicious ice cream.

I sometimes dress casually, and this was one of those days. Red sweatpants and a white sweat shirt. Snow was forcast, so I also was wearing my sheepskin boots to keep my feet warm.

My hair was more than just a little grey. My beard, though not excessively long, was nearing its maximum of about three inches in length. My wife sat across from me as we were finishing our desserts. She nodded her head and indicated that something was happening behind me.

I turned my head and heard little voices engaged in a whispered discussion. “It’s him, I know it’s him”.

As we were done I leaned back and patted my belly.

“Oh mama, that was a good meal. But we’d best be headed home. Dasher wasn’t feeling so well when we left and I want to check on him”.

Their jaws dropped to the table.