Say it, don’t spray it

In the 8th grade I had the highly unfortunate position of sitting far left, front row of Spitting Estock’s algebra class right next to where Mrs. Estock stood to teach.

We called her “Spitting Estock” because, well, she had a habit of spraying copious amounts of saliva as she talked. And she talked. A lot.

While I wouldn’t have dared say anything, I dreaded sitting there, waiting to get spewed upon. For one full school year, every Monday through Friday, I cringed inwardly and thought, “Say it, don’t spray it!” read more