Three individual little old men, each wearing little old men driving hats, complimented me on my little old man driving hat this afternoon while I was out running errands.

After several months — years? — of disguising myself in their garb, learning their language, and earning their trust, I have finally been accepted by the local tribe — or matlock — of little old men.

Tune in next time, as I further investigate the time-honored customs of: offering small hard candies to one another; loudly complaining about the length of hair, piercings, and tribal markings of area young; and uncover the mystery of the “early bird” dinner.

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