It was a sunny 4th of July in Aroostook Maine and the Senator was on her second ‘Gansett. We were seated next to each other at the clambake, having a nice chat about the potato crop, when the lobster claw she had just dipped in butter began to slip out of her grasp. She juggled it awkwardly, until it “accidentally” dropped in my lap. She made a grab for it, reaching around to make sure of her grip, and plucked it up on the table. “Oh my gosh what have we heah?” she exclaimed, and with a wink she tugged off my bib and reached down, pretending to try to rub the grease off my crotch. I was so shaken I just allowed her to scrub my denim. When she was finished she took what looked like the same claw and sucked, then said, “I like the meat.” Of course, I was so traumatized that to this day I’m on disability and cannot bear look at a quahog or a barnacle. If you can’t trust your elected representative, who can you trust?