When Jimmy was ten we visited with family in Lake Tahoe. He and Uncle Chet (twenty-five) took off as the rest of us walked around the casino. They were to meet us shortly in the ice cream parlor. Gone a long time, we were eating our treats when Jimmy came running up great excitement in his eyes. “Mom, we got locked in the hotel!” he gushed. Looking daggers at my brother, I calmly asked what had happened.
“Uncle Chet thought it would be fun to see who could spit the farthest from the roof. But the door to the roof was locked. So we went into the stairwell. It was really cool. You could see all the way down the stairs. We started spitting down the stairwell. Then we knew you’d be mad if we didn’t hurry back to meet you guys.”
“But the door to the hall with the elevators was locked! We had to walk all the way down the stairs (there were 12). Oh, man! As we were doing down we found our spit! It was so gross. Isn’t that cool, Mom!” In their race down the stairs, they used the railings to keep from falling. But they ended up doing a little slip and slide on their own spit.
