As I was walking by the Stackpole Moore Tryon store in Hartford on the way to the parking garage, and thence, as we attorneys are wont to say, to New Britain Superior Court, while gazing into the windows, I caught sight of a woman with long, gray hair and more than a few wrinkles, bent forward and struggling against the wind carrying a large Redweld folder. As I covertly examined her reflection, I thought: “Oh, XXXX, that’s me.”

Oy vey.