Imagine then, if you will, my gut reaction on the day I arrived at my office in my shiny new Porsche convertible to discover a battered old pick-up truck in my reserved parking spot in the underground garage. For the full effect, imagine the accompanying audio, complete with a goodly supply of short but time-honored Anglo-Saxonisms. The truck had West Virginia plates.

It was raining, naturally. My umbrella was at home, since I normally drive directly from one garage into another. I had to park at the furthest edge of the outside visitors' lot. I tried to run between the drops; that worked about as well as it ever does. Picture me sopping wet by the time I was inside. This time, imagine a few of those colorful and anatomically improbable expressions for which sailors are so famous.

Steam was rising from my ruined suit and my ears with about equal intensity when I reached my office. In my reception area, to my amazement, stood Bubba himself. About six-foot sixteen, bib overalls, plaid flannel shirt, size thirteen shit-kickers ... who else could it be? The last crop to be successfully grown in West Virginia had long since turned to coal, so I was reasonably sure that--despite his get-up--my visitor couldn't be a farmer. Only the momentary pause while I searched for a totally devastating remark allowed Bubba to get in the first word.

"Golly," he began. (Really, I'm not making this up.) "You look just like Cheryl said."

Cheryl is my ex. Somewhere during our courtship, in a rumpled moment when I was otherwise very distracted, she'd mentioned having relatives "out East." I'd pictured old money--not a gene pool unchanged since her trilobite ancestors. Or was that troglodyte? Science isn't my thing--but that will become only too evident anon. Whatever, Bubba had a claim of acquaintanceship; it would be unseemly to blast him where he stood.

My visitor didn't seem to have noticed my pause. "I'm Cheryl's cousin, Clay. Clay Hartwick, Jr. Shucks, you're family, sorta. Call me Clayboy, same's every at home does."

Okay then, not Bubba. Gumbie. I had Gumbie in my waiting room.