I inadvertently spit in someone’s face this morning.* The frothy blob had some serious arc, and took what seemed like an eternity to find purchase. Neither of us recognized the incident, we just kept talking. I could see the spittle though, clinging to an eyebrow, like a baby seal on an ice floe. The Spit Seal remained there until we ended our conversation–which was amicable–a real miracle considering my transgression.
Now, this was an accident, but what about purposeful face-spitting—that’s one of the most brutal insults on the planet. The only acceptable use of purposeful face-spitting, in my book, is when you’re hassled by a close-talker. Those folks deserve it. I mean really, why do they have to get so damn close? I rustle up words that begin “B” and “P” when speaking with a close-talker. These consonants aid in the launch phase. That’s the passive-aggressive version of face-spitting.
There are few things worse than face-spitting. Wanting to shake my hand after I see you come out of the bathroom comes to mind.
*This may be the first ever written account of the Spit Spectacle.