David was calling a dance at the Guiding Star Grange in Mass, in the early 1990's—and one particular dance had an odd progression, which David described as "spitting dancers out at the top, and spitting dancers out at the bottom." Wit that I thought I was, I called out from the floor: "David, what's with all the spitting? It will get the floor wet!"
Without a pause, David riposted "I just didn't want any false expectorations!"
The entire floor groaned—and blamed it on ME!
Thank you, David, for many, many years of (all kinds of) fun!