I’ve hired you to help me start a war. It’s a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition.
-Vazzini, The Princess Bride
I hosted dinner last week for a gentleman who is a university dean, who was kind enough to share some guidance with my college bound brother. The couple have two small children. We gave their son a paper airplane kit, which prompted a comment from his scholarly father that he first needs to master spit balls. Next thing I know, I am breaking out the straws. Nothing livens up an informal college interview like swapping spit. Nobody wanted to make the first move. I quickly discovered that like hula hooping, spit balling is a skill that must be maintained through practice. Mine were either too big and got stuck in the straw or too small and limply dislodged.
Over the holiday weekend, we went to a greek restaurant with belly dancers and servers breaking dishes and making it rain paper napkins. OOM-PA! We had paper. We had straws. Who would notice a few wet wads on the floor? What is that line about waking a sleeping giant? Or maybe I am thinking of Vizzini when he said, “Never go against a sicilian when death is on the line! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...” Take my advice. Never, never go against a 12-year old boy when spitballs are in the straw. It was a smack down. A wet, humiliating smack down. In my haste to try and go on the offensive, I actually inhaled a couple.
So Saturday night, I leveled the playing field. We hosted several neighbors over. No kids. After multiple courses including a rich dessert, I announced that everyone should save room. Heavy groans of protest against anymore food gave way to giggles, which gave way to raucous laughter and declarations of war. We discovered one of our guests is apparently a screamer.
On this Time Travel Tuesday, I am fascinated with spitballs. I found this funny British clip on You Tube, Spit Ball Competition, where a teacher is getting pelted. I also found non-spit spitballs for sale on a site called Think Geek. They even sell glow in the dark spitballs.This ready made ammo supposedly grows 200 times it's normal size. Isn't it so much more fun to act like a kid when your an adult with a credit card? Good thing my son doesn’t read this blog.
Revenge is sweet. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
When is the last time you laughed so hard you cried?