The little girl in me will always feel that the male of the species has cooties. Now I know it’s true because I have to spit. Not a skill that was honed when I was a child. Or, more accurately, when I was a girl. So different from the cootie-filled boys, who always spit. Ew.
I sip from the wine glass. I pull a little air over my tongue in order to experience the full essence of the wine. I swirl it around in my mouth and then spit into the waiting container.
Damn. Dribbled again.
Well, it’s not wine. It’s water. And it time I started practicing appropriate spitting. It’s something that we as women weren’t encouraged to do.
“Ladies don’t spit.”
There are a lot of things that I do that would horrify my grandmother, but never mind.
Guys were raised to and encouraged to do all kinds of icky things. Things such as making yellow snow (use your imagination), lighting farts, drop-kicking underwear to the middle of the floor, and distance spitting. And so many other things that it never occurred to women to do.
Guys have contests to see who can spit the farthest. Girls don’t. We have a modicum of dignity. Guys don’t. At least not at the let’s-see-who-can-pee-the-farthest stage. Which lasts approximately from potty-training to post-grad. That being said, I’m spending time learning how to spit in a ladylike, non-dribbling manner since I’m decades behind the “learning how to spit” curve.
Because I am having to taste so many wines, I realized that simply taking a sip or two and then dumping the rest wasn’t going to cut it. Those “sip or two” increments build up and the next you know, you’re a little buzzed. Buzzed is bad. Tasting and spitting even beautiful, expensive wine is a tried, true, and accepted method of tasting wines, particularly when you have to taste a lot of them. I find it very difficult to spit out, say, a Silver Oak Cabernet. The bottles are $100 and my spit could be ten bucks of expectoration arcing its way to the bucket. However, I have to think professionally, not economically.
So it’s time to learn how to spit. Yes, it’s disgusting. I feel like I’m becoming cootieized every time I hurl a mouthful towards a bucket. And dribble. Ew.
I just don’t want to dribble wine down my chin. See that soul patch on my chin? It isn’t hair. It’s wine.
Damn. Hand me the tissue.