Bethanyisms (Salivary Juices)

I remember specifically the moment I first heard the term “salivary juices.” It was in my seventh grade English class and my teacher was grumbling about how she hated when students chewed big wads of gum and their “salivary juices” spilled out of their mouths and onto their desks.

I chuckled to my seventh grade self for two reasons:

First, because only a dorky teacher would say “salivary juices” instead of the customary “spit.”

Second, because I was always spilling salivary juices regardless of whether there was gum in my mouth or not.

I drooled sometimes.

I can’t lie; this malady continues to plague me.

And it almost ruined my life once…


Ryan and I were dating and had just spent a good half an hour cuddling (making out) in his super hot sports car. I opened the car door (to de-fog) and rested my head on his shoulder.

Gravity can be a tricky booger sometimes—stapling us to the floor, causing body parts that are supposed to be “perky” to not be, drawing large quantities of fluid from our mouths onto objects that would much prefer to be dry…

My mouth had only been open a titch but, by George, you wouldn’t believe the amount of “salivary juices” that poured out. Pints. Gallons. Mother Niagara actually called me up a few days later asking for guidance.

I tried to slurp it back up before it met its target, but that was be like asking a flash flood to kindly turn around and go back from whence it came. The spittle funneled down Ryan’s arm and pooled in the center of his leather-upholstered bucket seat.

While not privy to the exact expression on my face at the moment, I would imagine it looked similar to this:



I was horrified. I didn’t want to meet Ryan’s eyes. I was certain he’d break up with me forever and demand I repay all of the cash he had ever spent taking me on dates, including all the money he’d spent in gas... with interest.

That’s what I would have done.

I finally mustered the courage to look at Ryan. He was silent and rather expressionless for a moment/eternity. Then a weird noise came out of his mouth. I strained to make sense of the noise. Could it be? Was he… laughing?

Yes.

He was roaring with laughter. He thought the drool was amazing. He thought it was hilarious. He thought I was hilarious. He loved me. He wanted to marry me.

So I started laughing… I mean, it was kind of awesome. I’d drooled before—tons of times—but never to that magnitude. I should win some sort of award.

So Ryan and I laughed and laughed… the kind of laughter that wrings your esophagus and makes you gasp for air. I even fell out of his car onto the freezing pavement and rolled around for a little while.


Even though there have been plenty of “salivary juice incidents” since then, Ryan occasionally reminds me of that special moment when I almost drowned him in his own car.

I also like to remind him that 50% of that spit was probably his.