I turned 50 in December. Ron rented a party bus for our family to ride around pole dancing for 3 hours because he knew that would be my party dream come true, as I assume would be everyone's.
Despite turning half a century old, I have only two significant life changes to report:
1. I got Invisiline braces. I lived my first 50 years with the big split between my two front teeth so I figured I'd spend the next 50 without it, just to keep things even.
And:
2. I choke on meat now.
What were you expecting, menopause? Stop. I still dance for a living over here.
The choking thing presented itself on Friday October 29th on the way home from an amusement park at roughly 10:15pm. Ron was driving, I was in the passenger seat, Zac and Caymen were in the seat behind us, and Ace and Scarlet were in the very back.
Why so much detail? Because you remember details when you almost die and your family sits there and lets it almost happen.
We were riding along eating Wendy's and Zac and I were having a conversation. (That's an important detail.) I had just asked him a question when I swallowed a bite of my double cheeseburger and felt it get stuck. Not in the back of my throat stuck, but down past my neck and deep into my windpipe stuck and I could kind of sort of breathe around it, but barely. So am I choking? Am I not choking? Grabbing my neck and doing the universal 'I'm choking' signal seemed dramatic when I still hadn't decided what constitutes an actual choke.
Zac answered the question I'd asked him, but I didn't reply back, and I always reply back, so surely he'll notice something is wrong with his mother, but I turned around to find him staring down at his iPad not even waiting for a reply to his reply.
I began shifting around in my seat while my mouth filled up with saliva and I looked over to see Ron double fisting French fries into his mouth from the Wendy's bag so I knew that was a lost cause. I could've nudged him and did the 'I'm choking' thing, but I knew that would leave me at the mercy of Zac and Ron on the side of the road doing who knows what they'd think up to me to inflict vomiting, while the children watched through the windows.
The children. CAYMEN. Caymen loves me and will notice that mommy got quiet. I craned my neck around to see her staring at her phone and I decided that on the off chance I survive the night, I'd be limiting her screen time forever.
FI-NA-LLY, as tears streamed down my cheeks imagining the coroner signing 'cause of death: Wendy's double cheeseburger and probably Covid', it slid down. I gasped in relief, took big gulps of water, and turned to calmly address my oblivious family members.
"SO NOBODY NOTICED ME CHOKING TO DEATH???"
They seemed surprised. Zac asked, "When did you choke?"
WHEN DID I CHOKE? "After I asked you that question!"
He calmly said, "Wow. That was a long time ago."
YES. I KNOWWWWW.
Everybody take note, because THAT'S why choking is called The Silent Killer and just like the time I was having an allergic reaction to a hazel nut in 2007 and Ron told me to wait until the Ohio State Game was over, God saved my life all by Himself while probably shaking His head in disappointment at my family members.
And they wonder why Jesus loves me more. M'hm.
Now fast forward to January 22nd. I had just returned home from an Emmaus team meeting, where a lady stopped me in the church bathroom and said to me, "You're always so put together."
It's refreshing to meet new people who have obviously never read my blog.
And three hours later I was watching myself in our laundry room mirror with Ron's fists on my sternum while I vomited Salisbury steak into the sink, because this is what we trained for.
Shout out to my new friend Holli. Sorry to shatter my first impression for ya. Now excuse me while I google esophageal tumors, because I refuse to believe my family is right and I just need to take smaller bites.
So last week I asked Ron where he wanted to eat for our 29th Anniversary and he suggested Texas de Brazil.
Oh. You mean that all you can eat MEAT place? That's how you want this to end?
We opted for Plan B. Longhorn Steakhouse. Still has meat, but not as upscale so slightly less embarrassing if we end up having to perform our little Heimlich/Vomiting demo. Also it's portion controlled as opposed to endless visits by a waiter carving me slabs of choking hazards served table side.
I think through every possible scenario now because that's what 50 year olds have to do.
Our dinner was served and the ribeye I ordered medium arrived well-done. I'm not a fan of sending food back, but if I'm going to die from a ribeye on our anniversary, it's going to be cooked the way I ordered it, it's the least they can do. When the waitress returned and I showed her my steak, she turned to ask if Ron's was cooked to order and his plate was empty. Like, SCRAPED.CLEAN.
And I'm the one who needs to take smaller bites? Right.
Twenty minutes later, I was the only one eating while Ron sat across the table watching for signs of my eyes bulging and darting and trying to convince me he wolfed down his food for my own safety, lest he be distracted.
When I finished my meal, the waitress brought us free dessert because I ate alone on our anniversary. I looked up from my strawberry shortcake to see the top of Ron's head as he scarfed down his cheesecake.
