One thing that really does not mix with my singing habit is my popcorn habit. When was the last time you heard someone say that? Yeah, exactly. But I love popcorn. Not the kind that has all the fake butter on it, or the movie theater kind...just the plain air-popped kind with salt. I eat it every night while watching TV if at all possible. I really feel that if I murdered someone and was going to the electric chair, and they asked me what my last meal should be, I would ask for popcorn as an appetizer. Which, considering that we live in a world that has truffles, artisan breads, french and italian cheeses, potatoes, and the list goes on and on, it is kind of weird that a simple thing like popcorn would make the list. But I love it.
Until a little piece of a kernel gets stuck in the side of my throat.
It has happened so many times, of course, that I have to pick these little guys out of my gums, that a term has developed to describe it: popcorn shrapnel.
But this morning when I woke up with that little pinching thing on one side of my throat, I was like, oh god, not now. Throat infection-a-rama, after everything that has happened already this month? Really? I am not going to describe the scene to you, as I reached down my own throat to try to get the little piece of shrapnel out. It wasn't elegant.
It probably would have dislodged itself on its own, but I would have been damned if I was going to take that chance with my exciting adventure coming up tomorrow, when I get to try to drive in Boston by myself. World's scariest city to drive in.
Today, I think I'll lay off the popcorn, have a coaching, go to work, teach, pack, and then go to bed early so that I don't look scary getting on the plane tomorrow.