The Adult-ish Man Child recently bought a house. He's nearing the end of the prep process and is nearly ready to move in, so the chores are tedious: Touching up paint, wiping down staircase banisters, measuring for blinds, counting all the naked light switches so covers can be purchased.
He tasked me with paint clean-up and pointed to a smudge on the banister he hasn't been able to get off.
Mind you, I'd come off three days of "BiBi Duty" with the Tiny Grand Girl, and my "Faking Normal Adult" mode hadn't kicked in yet.
I licked my thumb.
I rubbed the smudge.
The smudge disappeared.
My son was stunned. "What’s in your spit?” Had he not made that startled comment, I’d not have realized I spit-shined his staircase.
“Industrial-strength Grandma spit. Strong enough to remove caked-on breakfast oatmeal from a child’s chin. And long-dried paint, evidently.”
I stopped short of telling him how many spit baths he had when he was little, given the fact that he refused to high-five me after the pain disappeared because of the germs. The best I got was an excited elbow-bump.
I avoided this technique for the rest of the clean-up, but I had to wonder just how powerful Grandma spit might be, and all the things I could erase if I could bottle it. Because I can’t go around licking my thumb all willy-nilly.
· Smudgy paint removal
· Hard water stains
· Caked-on windshield bugs
· Road tar
· Closet clutter
· Brain fog
· Plantar fasciitis
· Stretch marks
· Thyroid flares
· Anxiety spirals
· That conversation from 2012 when I could’ve said something smart and snarky
· That conversation from twelve minutes ago when I could’ve said something smart and snarky
· Circumstances beyond my control, including but not limited to acts of God, acts of government, and acts of “good grief, are you kidding me?”
Think of the power this product would have if grannies of the world who’ve “seen some stuff” pooled their resources!
With that visual, Dear Reader, I’ll leave you to spit-shine your own banister.
