Overheard in the Produce Aisle

"Do you think the bleach is going to kill me?"

I fondled a zucchini and glanced over at Corb. "You inhaled it about two hours ago, babe. You're not dead yet, so probably not." Then, worried. "I just can't believe I didn't hear you when you were calling out." 

"You did. But what you said didn't make any sense. Something about finding a secret entrance to Green Victoria."

"That's because I was asleep. Deep sleep. But that's what worries me." I stood there, thinking back on what Corb had told me (at least three times) this morning. He had been cleaning the shower downstairs, had spilled a bottle of bleach. The fumes had been so bad he had trouble breathing. And since then, all he had been saying, every five minutes is--

"Gah, I still have an ammonia smell in my nose. Even now." He wrinkled his nose. 

"How about if you had collapsed and died?" I asked, feeling a pang of remorse that I was such a late sleeper. "Maybe I should take you to the emergency room. Now. Just in case." 

Corb brushed that aside and delicately removed the zucchini from my grip. "Like you said, I'm not dead yet. Besides, we don't have three hours to wait in the emergency room. We have an emergency food situation. We need to get back to eating healthy.

Hence the Saturday morning produce aisle trip. The two of us vowed after the big wedding party we were going to start to work off our happy fat. And so far, so good: I weighed in six weeks ago at 191. Last week, I was down by 18 pounds. Corb has lost 20. 

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