When my husband was a teenager he broke up with a girl because she spit. Not habitually, but once, and from a balcony. He recalls the spittle clinging to her lower lip, falling slowly, and landing on the iron balcony rail. The glob slid around the curve of the balcony rail and dangled. He says that whenever she went to kiss him, he saw the lip spittle. A break-up was inevitable.
I discovered the importance of spitting well when I started running to train for field hockey. My maiden spit attempt was an ill-formed mass lacking propulsion that slipped down my tri-cep.
I have honed this skill over the decades. When I run, I focus on a point and let loose. I now have about a 90% accuracy rate. Nevertheless, I avoid spitting in front of my husband.