You're Killing Me

I had stabbing pains in my abdomen this morning, so I called in sick to work. I texted Austin around 9:00 to let him know the pain was better, just sore and tired.
Austin: If you’re feeling up to it, could you go down and take my laundry out of the washer and put it into the dryer for me? I like one dryer sheet in with my load.
Me: Because it's you, I’ll pry my &^# out of bed and change your laundry over. If you find me on the floor of the basement dead when you get home, you’ll know why.
Austin: You’re like an Indian mama. “Two spoons of chocolate? Why don’t you stab me with this knife because you’re killing me.”

Reference to a comedienne we've recently discovered: