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My friend Pat Carr is a smart, talented guy (Harvard MBA, president of his company). He’s also got a knack for describing ordinary things in a funny way. In Pat’s world, you’re not “white trash.” You’re “garbage blanc.” Everything sound better in French, n’est-ce pas? “Jerk” is “secousse.”  “You cheating dog!” is “Vous êtes un chien de fraude!” Rotten cheese is “fromage putréfié.” Almost makes you wish you could have a torrid affair with a wheel of aged brie, doesn’t it?

Anyway, Pat created a term that I think deserves national exposure because it describes a certain persnickety breed of person: “Expert Elderly” (“Double E” for short). What makes someone an Expert Elderly? Surprisingly, age isn’t the only prerequisite. You can be 30 and a Double E. It’s all in your behavior and attitude.

Example: Double Es enjoy telling you what they’re doing, why it’s sensible, and why they don’t care if anyone else thinks they might look ridiculous: “Well, we’re wearing these satellite-dish-sized visors and sun block with an SPF of 720 even though it’s midnight because two percent of the damaging UV rays can still cause skin damage.” They love offering unsolicited child-rearing tips: “In my day, we beat our children with nail-spiked canes and they thanked us for it, but you go right ahead. Ask your child to ‘Use your angry words’ and see how far you get” (punctuated with a pursed-lip smirk). For them, bliss is reminding you how much easier your generation has it: “We didn’t have condos. We had cardboard shacks. Toilet paper? We used poison ivy. We ate mold for breakfast and squirrels boiled in used bathwater for dinner. It built character, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, with your fancy subzero fridge and Viking stove.” Double Es live to share their bargain-hunting hints: “Y’see, we get to the restaurant by 4:29 on ‘Fish Fry Tuesday’ so we can use the Early Bird coupons AND get free hot fudge sundaes.”

To my dismay, I sometimes find myself exhibiting Early Onset Double E symptoms, even though I’m decades away from qualifying for the senior discount. John and I will be driving along, and I’ll see a bicyclist dart out from nowhere, or a motorist passing us on the right. When I was younger, I’d be too busy singing along with Madonna to notice. Not now. Instantly, I’ll blurt out, “Look at that guy!” which is the opening line of a rant that invariably ends with, “...and he’ll be sorry when he’s brain dead!” or “What’s his license plate number? I have half a mind to call the police and report him!”

Come to think of it…those dudes could be Double Es rushing to make the Early Bird cut-off. We’d better let them pass. They get so violent when the tartar sauce runs out.