The other day in the grocery store, the woman at the checkout counter sprayed a paper towel and used it to dampen her fingers so she could separate the plastic bags she needed to use for my items. It reminded me of how useful our spit is. At home, I lick my fingers to separate things such as pages in a book. To thread a needle, I stick the thread into my mouth first–it goes through the eye easier when it’s wet.
I was a preschooler when I first saw spit used as a grooming aid. I sat on the edge of my cousin Doris’s bed watching her get ready for a date. She didn’t have a glass of water in her upstairs bedroom to moisten her Maybelline cake mascara so she could apply it to her lashes–she spit on it. When I had kids of my own, I’d stick my fingers into my mouth before I wiped a smudge from my child’s check or controlled a few wild hairs.
Drool also is used to symbolize how worthless something or someone is. We say, “It doesn’t mean spit.” Expectorating on someone is the height of contempt. Police officers and Viet Nam vets are familiar with that humiliation.
Watching “Gunsmoke” on TV, I thought the worst job in the Old West would be cleaning the brass spitton used by the cowboys who chewed tobacco in the Long Branch Saloon. I was familiar with the habit. When Dad’s family came to visit while I was growing up, Grandpa, who used the smokeless tobacco, asked me to get an empty, tin can for him to spit into. After he left, his container could be thrown away.
Most of the time, we ignore our saliva. It’s always there unless something scary like public speaking leaves us with a dry mouth. Some pills leave people with xerostomia–another medication counteracts this problem.
How do you view spit?