Must Chew Better

Yup, Roundseventeen, and my concerns about ending up in a dirty nursing home, almost came to an abrupt and unexpected end.

Allow me to back the ambulance up a bit.

Ms. Muse and I had been invited to dinner, and a show (Funny Girl), at the Ahmanson Theater. Complements of my generous friend and under-appreciated Blogger Jeff Gelberg and his wife Vicki. In all honesty, Jeff is a much better writer than me. In even more honesty, let's be frank, that bar is not very high.

During the pre-show convivialities, we shared stories of previous theater outings, stories of outrageously obnoxious neighbors, and, I don't know how this came up, our collective appreciation for stand up Comedian and quite possibly the tallest Jew on the planet, Gary Gulman.

When it came time to order, I heard how delicious the salmon was at Kendall's Brasserie. But, having eaten salmon every night for the previous 6 nights, I decided to re-acquaint my taste buds with the charbroiled taste of red flesh and ordered the Steak Frites -- Medium Rare.

Big mistake.

The rib eye came out about three shades of red shy of Medium Rare. It was just past Steak Tartare. I should have sent it back, but it was our waiter's first night on the job and he was not the most attentive fellow on the planet. I didn't want to risk missing the opening number, so I decided to soldier on.

Also, at the risk of TMI, I was sporting a sore tooth (that was pulled last Friday). So I wasn't exactly bringing my A-level chewing game.

Do the math. 

At first I thought I could power through the errant pre-digested piece of meat now lodging comfortably in my esophagus, or whatever pipe it should not have gone down. I gave it several good attempts not wanting to disrupt the jovial storytelling at the table.

Then it became apparent to me, as I was flashing back to the mistakes I made at my Bar Mitzvah, the ferocious fights I had with father, the long-labored birth of my children (where I was not offered an epidural), the atrocious haircut of 1983, etc, etc, that I was in trouble. 

Big Oxygen-Deficient trouble.

I pushed back in my seat and could hear the chair screach across the tile floor. I gave myself some room. And instinctively coughed. Next thing I know the Gary Gulman joke stopped mid-punchline...

"Oh my god."

"Are you Ok?"

"Rich, do you mind if I steal one of your french fries?" (that was Jeff)

Within seconds, the flow of oxygen returned. I don't know where the chunk of Angus Beef went, nor did I care. I do know that I was rattled. Still rattled, thinking about the inglorious exit I might have made that night. 

Instead of Funny Girl it could have been, Funny Guy Dead.

Good to be back.