Spit It Out!

Men seem to consider their own spit toxic. As I wait at a red light the truck door in front of me opens, a man leans out, and he spits on the pavement. I come out of a restaurant after having enjoyed a nice dinner and just ahead of me a man spits into the bushes.  Even my husband, who is somewhat domesticated, spits into the toilet at the exact same minute I’m brushing my teeth. Yuck! Gross!

What is the deal with spitting? I really want to know. My female friends never seem to need to expectorate their own saliva. If it builds up noticeably we simply—are you listening, men?—swallow. You should try it.

Or is spitting something males must do, like male dogs marking their territory? Is it a compulsion? Please, tell me the reason for all this sputum-spittage.

Which brings me to another nasty male habit. Peeing outside. (Okay, I must admit there was one little neighbor girl who peed in my hedges, but she wasn’t terribly civilized in any other area, either. And she attended a “progressive” private school, part of a chain, where they probably made peeing in public part of the regular curriculum.)  Little boys seem especially compelled to pee outside. I know—I’ve watched Supernanny.  Are males born with the urge to pee in fresh air, or is a learned behavior?

A Scout leader told me he and his Scouts didn’t need bathrooms on camping trips—“The world is my bathroom.”

I said, “But your bathroom is my world!”

So, men, tell me why you spit so much. Just spit it out. You do everywhere else.