Snuff cans I have known...and a double dog dare.

The wife and I moved K3 back into the dorm at Texas Tech this weekend.  At dinner Saturday night we were talking and the subject of dipping snuff came up.  This would not seem, on the surface, to be a subject that a 19 year old girl would discuss with her Mom and Dad, but it came up, and the kid asked if I had ever dipped.

For the uninitiated this involves taking a bit of Skoal or Copenhagen smokeless tobacco and putting it in your lip.  "Just a pinch between your cheek and gum," as the old commercial went.  Once you got it in there it kind of moistened up, and you took great pains to spit out the juice.  Under no circumstances should the juice be swallowed.

Well...

When I was about 13 or 14 many of my friends were beginning to dip.  I was in a Buddies supermarket (predecessor to Winn Dixie) with my Dad and we passed up the Skoal display.  I said, half joking, "Dad, buy me a can of snuff!" 

Dad looked at me and said, "I'll buy it if you use it."

This was the paternal equivalent of a double dog dare.  For those who might be unfamiliar with the Southern/Texan tradition of the "double dog dare," suffice it to say that failure to take up the challenge of a double dog dare leads to a big loss of face, often to the extent that it cannot be overcome in a lifetime. 

This is why many people leave the South; they failed to rise up to the challenge of a double dog dare.

So he bought it, and I used it...or tried to.  We got home and I made a fairly big show of confidently opening the can and placing just a pinch between the teeth and gum, and then waited for further developments.  I quickly decided that I was not sure what was supposed to be enjoyable about this exercise.

Mom was fairly upset with the proceedings.  Being a southern girl, herself, she knew that the first time user often barfed vile fluids spectacular distances just a short while after using just a pinch between the teeth and gum.  She feared for her carpet.  My two younger sisters waited with eager anticipation for the impending disaster.

However, fortunately, intestinal fortitude prevailed and I managed to avoid puking while showing my Dad that I was fairly able to use this stuff the way that it was supposed to be used.  I think that as my Dad he was proud that I didn't barf, but as a guy he was a little disappointed that I didn't barf.  Guys always get a kick out of watching other guys puke.  It must be a neanderthal thing ("Better him than me!).

Anyway, I never got very good at it, and in fact I don't think that I ever finished a can.  It usually wound up getting all dried up before I could use it all.  Certainly I wasn't as good a dipper as some of my friends, who could put these enormous pinches into their mouth without ill effect.  I won't name them in case they read this; I wouldn't want their wives or kids to start asking uncomfortable questions.