For about an hour and a half tonight I was fairly certain I was having a heart attack. No major trigger to explain it, unless you count taking Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to Target to buy Pokemon cards.
And toilet paper. Can't forget the toilet paper.
As I sat in the living room wondering why it felt like a two ton bulldozer was sitting on my chest I tried to figure out if I needed to alert Ang to this issue or just chalk it up to gas and call it a day.
Thankfully it went away on it's own and I'm going to blame the fact that I ate dinner in approximately 3.7 minutes, during which I discussed with Rakes all the reasons I wasn't going to let him spend $40 on the aforementioned Pokemon cards.
The fact pitchers and catchers are reporting in the very near future may well be the only thing keeping me from an EKG machine and some electric paddles.
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