The Dangers of Baking

I've been trying to get better at cooking and baking and general house-wifey stuff such as that. So, last night I made muffins and Tyler liked them quite alot. I liked them too, perhaps even loved them.

Until they tried to kill me today. Well. Not all of them, just one.

I was in the office pretty much alone. Paul--our administrator--was on the roof. (We're getting it re-roofed so he was inspecting, he doesn't just like to sit up there and watch clouds or anything.) And Tim---our very cool new pastor--was in his office which is very far from my office and has many closed doors in between. Everyone else was gone.

I was eating the afore-mentioned muffin and perhaps took a rather unladylike (huge) bite. I saw out my window that someone was coming in the front doors, so I jumped up and swallowed at the same time, planning to peek in the mirror and make sure there were no muffin crumbs in my teeth. (highly unprofessional) But, alas, the muffin began to choke me and I couldn't breathe. I tried to cough and couldn't. I tried to hit myself on the back and couldn't. No one was there to save me.

I then concluded that this was to be the day I died.

I felt a bit sorry for myself, having to die in such a ridiculous way. I felt even sorrier for Tyler, for having the sort of wife who killed herself with a muffin. Thinking of him made me have the courage to fight for my life. I valiantly coughed and gagged and sounded truly dreadful, I'm sure, and managed to finally breathe once again.

Yes, I am alive and have nothing but a sore throat to show for my ordeal.

I had the thought of never making muffins again.

...but then I got hungry and ate the rest of the muffin and decided that was a ridiculous idea.