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that fair?”
    I f you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re at the mercy of anyone with a truck and a business card. And problems come up I never heard of.
    We had this
snake
in the backyard. Not a big snake but big enough to make
me
pass out. So I called the guy, the snake guy. Snake Man. That was his name. “Snakes in the Yard? Call Snake Man.” He had a truck with a little picture of a snake and everything. I said, “We have a snake.”
    He says, “Where?”
    Once again, I say, “
Finding
it will be pretty much up to you. I’m just telling you we
have
one.”
    He looks around and then tells me, “Listen, the kind of snake you have there is fine. It’s a
good
snake to have, because they scare away mice. You
want
these kind of snakes.”
    I say, “Okey-dokey.” And I pay him. For doing nothing. I give the man forty-five dollars for allowing me to continue to have the snake I already had.
    So now I rest comfortably in the knowledge that I have no mice, because the mice are all scared of my snake.
    Then I remember, I’m scared of the snake, too. That’s why I called the guy in the first place. Evidently, the only way I’m going to get rid of this snake is to scare him with something
bigger.
A mongoose. A cheetah. But then I’ll have to scare
them
away, and it will never end. The animals will just get bigger and bigger. I’m going to end up with a
hippo
in the living room.
    “Don’t worry, honey—they scare away the bison. Did you notice there were no bison around? Why do you think that is? They’re scared. Nice, huh? Hippo Man was here today, he explained the whole thing; forty-five bucks, we’re bison-free for a year.”
    I believe whatever they say. I don’t know who They are, but I trust them. And They say a lot of things.
    “You know what They say: ‘Cold hands, warm heart.’ ”
    “Who says that?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Hey, you know what they say about swimming on a full stomach.…”
    “Who actually said that?”
    “I don’t know, but why would they lie?”
    I just assume “They” know everything. “They” and “the Guy,” as in “Ask the Guy,
he’ll
know.”
    “I’m sure the Guy can fix it.”
    These are the two authorities running the whole show—They and the Guy. The Guy, I believe, is president of They.
    “You should have the guy check out that noise.”
    “I
did.
I brought it to the guy—he said he couldn’t fix it.”
    “The Guy couldn’t fix it? Are you sure this guy is good?”
    “That’s what They say.”
    A ll my life, I called the Guy. And if you could
get
him, he’d come over and fix it. Now I own a house, and I
am
the Guy—which doesn’t help anybody. I can
get
me; that’s not a problem. I’m available as hell. It’s knowing what to do when I
get there
that concerns me.
    Usually I look at the problem and say, “Honey, call the Guy. I don’t know
exactly
what’s wrong here, but my gut tells me flooding in a bedroom is bad. It can’t be right.”
    And I don’t love
dealing
with the Guy when hecomes over. I’m much better at telling my
wife
how to deal with him.
    “Look, honey, I gotta go, but when the cable guy gets here, make sure you tell him that we are
not
happy with the reception! Be firm with the guy. That was the problem last time, you weren’t firm.
I
would do it myself, but I’ve got to go Gather and Hunt. I gotta go slay an elk. But if the guy shows up before I get back, for God’s sake—BE FIRM WITH HIM.”
    A gain, this is part of that delicate balance between Men and Women that allows us to be together. In fact, I think the whole reason men and women get together in the first place is because we each can do certain things, and if you get together, everything gets done. Whatever comes up, somebody’s good at that.
    Ever catch a sweater on a hook and get that thread that sticks out? Women have learned that’s not a big deal. They know you can turn the sweater inside out, pull it through, tie a knot, and in twelve seconds