Medically Engineered™

It has come to this. As an empty nester who often chews too fast, hoping to shout out a Jeopardy answer to no one in particular, I have decided to make a $40 investment into a device I hope I never actually need.

This was not the case a couple of years ago. 

Ms. Muse and I had accepted an incredibly generous invitation from our friends, the Gelbergs, to attend a show at the Music Center in DTLA. I believe it was for Annie, but I could be wrong as most Broadway-type musicals sound alike to me. And I don't remember anything anymore.

But I do recall the meal we had prior to the show. Mostly because at some point, while gobbling up my thick, medium rare NY steak, I was convinced it would be my last meal.

I would tell you what we were talking about but my hearing went dead. As did my peripheral vision. My breathing grew shallower and shallower. And the world around me felt like it was closing. A meaty chunk had lodged itself in my breathing tube and the oxygen shortage had already affected my brain function because I didn't want to interrupt the conversation or bother any of the other patrons at this fine upstanding restaurant.

So I bit my tongue and pushed my seat away from the table. Something was very wrong. And it wasn't the soggy asparagus. Somehow, perhaps because of my excessive time on the Peloton or the aerobic miles spent in the pool, I was able, by shear force and my desire to see what was for dessert, to evict the Grade A beefy assailant.

Years ago, I wrote a headline for some steakhouse restaurant chain we were pitching that read: If God Didn't Want Us to Eat Beef He Wouldn't Have Made Cows So Easy to Catch.

Perhaps this was the universe paying me back. 

I have since eschewed the NY Steak from my diet. And as seen above, taken the necessary precautions. 

There are many ways to exit this world. Lying on my living room floor, in one of my CostCo wifebeater T-shirts (3 for $9.99), the victim of insufficient mastication, is an indignity I am determined not to suffer.