Death by Tostito

My dh almost killed me tonight. It probably wasn't on purpose. We were eating at his favorite Mexican restaurant. Not mine? For me, Mexican food and "favorite" are an oxymoron. It may be that I'd gotten there earlier than he and I was on my second Corona. It may be that he knew that and took advantage of the fact.

A waiter was serving an nearby table. My dh, who, as those who know him know, grows not much grass on his playground, that is, he might have had more hair at one point in time, remarked that the Mexican waiter had more hair on his forehead than he had on his whole head. At the moment I looked up, I'd just taken a large bite of a tortilla chip.

The man had a hairline centimeters from his eyebrows which, perhaps it was the Corona, struck me as funny. As I laughed suddenly, I felt that feeling we've all had before, tortilla chip in the windpipe. Alternating laughing with coughing, my eyes began to water and dh asked if I was alright. I tried drinking my water. No effect. It was in there good and I coughed and coughed. People were starting to stare. It's then you realize you'll have to cough until you make that retched retching noise like you're going to barf and ruin everyone's enjoyment of their refried beans. I was able to mask it, and somehow coughed the boulder-sized (by now) chip into my esophagus, where it merely tickled rather than choked. I continued to cough and cry until I finally got it into submission. See why I don't like Mexican food? It can kill you.