Last
night, the spousal unit and I were watching our favorite British detective show
while we ate dinner. Just as they were about to do their big reveal of the
murderer, I tried to breathe in a piece of chicken, and I started to choke. I
was coughing and hacking as my lungs tried to expel the chicken and launch it
across the room. I was making a loud and terrible racket, so much so that I
understandably drew my spousal unit’s attention from the show. She quickly
jumped up, ran to my side of the table, grabbed the TV remote from my hand, and
turned up the volume. I guess saving my life from a deadly piece of chicken
would have to wait until after she found out who did it.
