CALL ME SNAKE

We have a giant tree in our backyard (our side yard, actually, if you want to be a nitpicker). It's a silver maple, by far the biggest tree in the neighborhood. Why am I telling you this? For no apparent reason, though it does relate to the story at hand. (And when I say "at hand," I mean "at hand," as we shall see...) The trees roots are extensive and voracious and our constantly finding their way into our drainpipe, which is why each fall, I'm visited by the friendly Rooter Man, who clears are drain--a messy job made especially messy due to our filthy, dirt-floor basement. The Rooter Man is indeed friendly, as I mentioned above, and a nice guy to boot. When he's done snaking our drain and gathers his equipment and collects a check from me, he always holds his hand out to shake. The thing is, I know where that hand has just been. And Larry David--at least in his show--would have second thoughts, or third thoughts, about shaking that hand. I now give it some thought too, but never refuse the extended palm, despite the fact of where it's been during the preceding half hour--a place I'd rather not dwell on. Or dwell in...