G has got to be preparing for a massive growth spurt. There's no other explanation for her insatiable appetite over the last few days. Today she had three pieces of toast for breakfast, followed by a snack an hour later, followed by an entire cheese pizza at California Pizza Kitchen (more about that in a minute), followed by the last of yesterday's brownies, followed by three helpings of pasta with tomato sauce, a lot of buttered corn, and a plateful of apple slices. I expect to get up tomorrow morning and find that she's grown six inches overnight. Or possibly eaten her pillow.
So while G was mowing down her pizza at California Pizza Kitchen, I was busy having a spice-related near-death incident. I'm a big fan of that crushed red pepper they put out on the table at pizza restaurants, so I had given my Five Cheese and Fresh Tomato pizza a judicious sprinkling of it before I started to eat. The first bite was fine, but the second one went down the wrong way, and I assume (because all my higher thought processes ceased at this moment) that a flake or two of pepper must have gotten into my windpipe. I've never personally swallowed a live coal, but I'm pretty sure I know now what it would feel like: burning, coughing, gagging, burning, burning, burning, no breath, no voice, tears streaming, life flashing before my eyes. Every time I coughed or tried to talk, it got worse, and drinking soda didn't help either.
"Are you okay?" asked P and G, who had both stopped eating and were watching me with concern and not a little alarm.
NO! HELP! CALL AN AMBULANCE! I thought, but I choked out "Got ... to get ... water!" and staggered to the front counter. After two cups of ice water and a lot of deep breathing, I finally got the coughing and eye-watering under control, and eventually managed to eat some of my lunch. I didn't enjoy it much, though. That sort of thing will really wreck your appetite.
And on that note ends the holiday weekend. Back to work tomorrow. Ugh.