While enjoying a broccoli and cabbage salad and chatting on the phone with Mom yesterday, I almost died.
No. It wasn't E Coli.
No. It wasn't by choking.
No. It wasn't from laughter over a witty remark.
I almost died from a plastic fork.
After I took a bite, I noticed something odd in the mouthful of vegetables. I tried to work it towards the front of the bite, but never figured out what it was until, after I swallowed, I looked at my white plastic fork and noticed a quarter inch of tine missing.
Instantly, I felt that sharp piece of plastic make its way down my throat, lodging in my stomach where it prepared to pierce my instestines causing septic shock and probably death.
Panicked, I went on Skype to my dear friends who instantly filled my phone with messages of concern and care. Angela suggested I eat a lot of vinegar and salt potato chips. Cheryl offered to eat her own fork if I died from tine disease. Cam expressed sympathy by asking for my vote on a deadline article.
They all, without fail, told me to stop Googling.
So I texted my friend Matt and told him I was going to die. He disagreed.
Not getting the sympathy I felt this sort of extreme situation calls for, I went to Facebook where I was told to eat bread.
I went back to Google and searched for fork tine deaths, to see what my mortality rate would likely be.
Interestingly enough, there's a South Fork Tine, CO which made me have a sudden urge to head east to a fitting final resting place.
I fretted all night. I fretted all day. I still fret, thinking of that plastic fork tine inching its way towards a puncture wound.
But as for today, I'm still alive.
In case you were all worried.
13 hours ago