The other day while visiting the parents, I found a half-drank bottle of pepsi in the fridge. I took it out and walked into the living room drinking it. My dad said, "I spat in that" (a running joke ever since my brother was 5, when he spat in a bucket of icecream so no one else would want it), to which I replied, "Dad, I used to call your ballsack home sweet home, I think I can handle a little spit".
"Good point". We had a laugh about it, while my mother shook her head, upset that she didn't have girls
