I am 33 years old.
I have chest hair.
You name it, I have it. Soon those hairs will turn gray as I further my aging into middle age-hood.
Thus, one would think that given my age I am not some young man, or late teenager, certainly not a child, and definitely not a toddler.
Tell that to my girl.
We were eating sushi for my birthday. I had a little bit of wasabi or something on my face.
Now, does said girl say, "Captain, you have something on your face. You should wipe it off?"
Does said girl say, "Captain, go to the bathroom and clean up your face. You have some crap on it?"
Does said girl say, "Captain, hold still while I take this napkin and wipe the food from your face?"
No, what does she do?
She licks her thumb, plying a near gallon of saliva and spit on it and then circa my mother in 1978 starts to smudge off the grit on my face with her spit-laden thumb.
I stood there in utter shock because my brain was caught between being grossed out by having spit smushed on my cheek and coming to grips with the concept that a full grown woman was actually doing this to a 33 year old man (replete with nose, ears and elbow hair).
I just stood there, giving the girl a look of disbelief. I said, "Did you just do what I thought you did?"
She giggles and walks to her car.