The Cheeto Story

I have a thing about spit. I absolutely refuse to drink after anyone, ever, or even share a spoon. Occasionally, I will share a straw with my children, but only if I'm truly desperate. I'll bite something off your fork as long as my lips don't close around it. It's not exactly a phobia, but it comes close.

I wasn't born this way. I can even remember sharing licks on a lollipop with my best friend in school. And French kissing is still good, though not my favorite after pizza for some reason. I won't drink after you, though, and no, you can't have a sip from my water bottle even if you hold it over your mouth and pour it in without touching. I don't care how thirsty you are.

Why am I this way? The Cheeto.

I was sixteen and on a date with my honey. We'd been together for about three years at that point and I distinctly remember the stoplight at which we were sitting in Mt. Airy, NC. We were on our way to Daniel's house, and as was usual in those days, pretty close to dead broke. A search of the car's hidey holes and the bottom of my purse had yielded us just enough money for a bottle of Mt. Dew and a snack size bag of Cheetos.

Ben, my fella, was the hungry one and I was downing the Mt. Dew to recaffeinate and enable me to put up with him and his buddies all together. I wasn't in the best of moods and gazed out the window at the graveyard across the street while Ben crinkled the bag as he turned it up for every last drop of cheesy goodness.

"Let me have a sip," he requested, and, without looking away from the graveyard, I passed over the bottle. He chugged down a swallow, and as the light turned green, he quickly downed another gulp. I took the bottle without thought or comment and raised it to my lips as the graveyard whizzed by with a shift of the gears.

The sweet, golden liquid filled my mouth and I lowered the bottle. Then "Crunch!" A whole cheeto, one with not even a tooth scratch on it, had backwashed from Ben's mouth into the Mt. Dew. It took four chews before the gargantuan cheesedoodle was small enough to swallow! I choked it down since spitting it out seemed even worse.

Ben got the rest of the Mt. Dew, and that was the very last time I ever shared a drink with anyone.