We're sitting at dinner, considering family resemblances. It's decided that Tertius is the one who looks most like me. Sensing an opportunity to do one of his famous impressions, he leaps to his feet.
"I'm going to get some stilts and gray hair," he declares excitedly, and then looks more closely at me. "White hair, I mean," he adds.
(A moment later, he's inspecting the back of my head. "There's still some brown hair here," he tells me. "Can't you see it?"
No, when I turned around, I was gone.)