I Make My Own Awkward

with animal cunning and skill, as The Jobst would say, though not, perhaps, cunning enough

During the course of lunch and discussions with Thalia and Renee one Saturday, food arrived at the table next to us, where three football players sat.  Thalia’s eyes trailed over, and she noted, “I always forget how much food guys can eat…”

Me:  Yeah…just crazy to think how all that is destined for their esophagus….or…well, their stomach eventually.  Their gut.  Somewhere.
Thalia:  Wait.  Esophagus?  No no no.  That goes to your lungs.  They’d choke!
Me:  Whaaaat.  No, the esophagus goes to the stomach!  ….doesn’t it?
Renee:  Here, I have a Smartphone.

Me:  *google google wiki*  Ha HA!  BEHOLD HOW I AM CORRECT.
Thalia:  Ohhhh…I wonder why I thought it was the air tube?  …and the epiglottis is at the top…but…doesn’t it sooound like it should be the air tube?
Me:  No no no, of course it has to do with eating; it’s got “phag” in it!

…which I said rather loudly, and which does not sound very Greek when spoken rather than read.

Though my victories be Pyrrhic, I will yet claim them, for lo, the ownership of this story compensates my loss of dignity.

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