“How’s the salad, David? When you told me you were a strict vegetarian, I just couldn’t resist asking you over for dinner tonight.” I looked at David in horror. Caught. Trapped. He was the grand embellisher and this time it cost him. David fancied himself a vegetarian, although he hated vegetables. Strict vegetarian indeed. This from the man who regularly met me at The Criminal for breakfast and ordered cheeseburgers smothered in chili.
“Oh yes. David is quite the vegetarian,” I said, looking down at my plate trying not to explode into laughter. I glanced up at him and took the offensive.
“David, why don’t you tell them about some of the delicious vegetarian delights that you’ve concocted.” All eating stopped. Attention was riveted on David. He squirmed in his seat and then proceeded to choke on his last gulp of water. He coughed uncontrollably again. Rejoyce repeatedly hammered him on the back with her six-year-old fist. David, looking around in a panic, finally knocked over his chair, backed up against the hutch, dishes rattling, and managed a feeble “excuse me” and made it out the front door where he hacked away. Rejoyce ran after him. Charly and Hanna went to get up and I motioned them to stay seated.
“He’ll be fine. I’ll check on him.” I got up and looked out the door in time to see David deposit a microscopic bit of green goo on the front lawn.
“Bleeeech,” I heard Rejoyce say. I went back to the table. David and Rejoyce came back in and sat down. David’s face was chalk white but he acted as if nothing happened.
“David threw up!” Rejoyce announced.
“Did not!” David said. “It was just the result of the coughing.” He patted his mouth with his napkin.
“Did to,” Rejoyce said, under her breath.
“Okay, enough, you two,” Hanna said. Chastised like a mere two-year-old. “Are you okay, David?”
“I’m fine, really.” All respect gone, the lad might as well pick up an accordion and start playing Frankie Yankovic’s greatest polka hits.