My Aunt Kathi has a Thing about saliva. Like, she detests it. Or maybe it’s backwash, I’m not sure. (What’s not to love about saliva and backwash?) I probably could have been five years old and dying of thirst, whispering “water” before passing out from dehydration, and she would have held her glass out of my reach, refusing to share. (Hyperbole, people. Aunt Kathi would have given me the water.) A tired and favorite joke of mine is to pretend to drink from her wineglass.

And then I watch as Z takes a huge slurp from the straw of her sippy cup thing, and she puts it down. Particles swirl around like the white flakes in a snow globe. All that, and through a straw?

I realize just how wise and venerable is my Aunt Kathi. I’m not sharing my drinks, either.