When I signed Colt up for T-ball four months ago, I had no idea what I was getting into.
We just survived finished our first season.
Once a week, I thought. A casual evening at the ball field.
(Wait, this is THREE days a week? Every week? For the rest of our lives!!!!?)
At least Colt was on the team with all of his friends, and by his friends,
Spitting. One of the many few topics, in which my husband and I disagree.
Specifically, the appropriateness of it.
He believes that phlegm needs be expelled. That it will somehow make you sicker to swallow it.
It must leave the body immediately. In the parking lot. On the sidewalk. In the kitchen sink. Out the car window.
Apparently every player of every Major League Baseball team in America is under the same guise.