One minute you're gobbling your food, probably not chewing like your mother taught you, having a good time in general. Then before you know it, you're gasping for air, turning blue and bug-eyed.

        It happened a week ago today, when President Bush choked while chomping pretzels at the White House. There he was, away from the wife, watching the big game on TV. Suddenly, a snack snagged in his throat and the president was in a world of hurt. Not even a Secret Service agent was nearby to slap him on the back or hug him with a Heimlich.

        The pretzel blocked his airway, causing Mr. Bush to faint and fall to the floor. Some believe the force of the fall dislodged the pesky pretzel from the presidential windpipe, saving the leader of the free world from an untimely death.

        Of course, we're all pleased Mr. Bush survived the Big Choke. And this is serious business — people do perish from choking on their food.

        But isn't it terribly ironic that a primal activity that sustains and gives so much pleasure can also strangle us? No matter what our power or position — pauper or president — we could kill ourselves if we don't masticate properly or refrain from talking (or shouting at the television) while eating.

        Everyone who has choked on food can guess the first panicky thought that crossed Mr. Bush's mind at that terrifying moment.It wasn't that he regretted not pecking Ms. Bush on the cheek that morning, or that he failed to share some national security tidbit with Vice President Dick Cheney. No, his first thought upon feeling that fateful pretzel lodge was probably:

        How embarrassing.

        Now really, if the president hadn't fallen and inflicted that shiner on himself, would the White House have issued bulletins explaining the snack gagging, prompting television crawls and newspaper stories saying the commander-in-chief was nearly rubbed out by a pretzel? Come on.

        I sympathize with the president because I, too, nearly killed myself once while eating. (Although there was no network coverage.) It happened years ago, while I was sharing lunch with a friend in a hospital cafeteria. I know what you're thinking, but I didn't choke on bad hospital food. The culprit was uncooked and it came from the salad bar.

        There I was yakking away about something. My approval ratings weren't nearly as high as the president's, but I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then, in mid-yak, a chunk of cauliflower stuck in my craw. I had previous close calls with less-than-tender roast beef and slick, round candies, but this vegetable was stubbornly rooted in my throat.

        This could be doubly embarrassing, I thought. Not only was I choking on food in a crowded cafeteria, I was choking on a floret.

        So instead of wildly gesturing to my throat, pounding my upper abdomen with my fist or throwing myself against the back of a chair, as choking experts recommend in such circumstances, I calmly got up from the table to leave my startled companion. Breathlessly (I couldn't breathe), I walked down a nearby hall, past the physician's dining room.

        Again, I know what you're thinking: If you're going to choke on cauliflower, a hospital cafeteria is not a bad place for it to happen. But of course, not one of those hungry docs looked up from their lasagna when the purple-faced guy staggered by.

        Miraculously, as if a mischievous angel finally decided I had suffered enough, the cauliflower worked it's way down my throat. I breathed again.

        I still enjoy raw cauliflower occasionally, though I'm careful to cut it into teeny pieces and chew it like a cud — and I will not utter a word while eating it. And I'm guessing our president will be at least as cautious today, if he dares to pick up a bag of pretzels while watching the game.

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