Tuesday, November 16, 2010

A Hoarse is a Hoarse, of coarse, of coarse.

Over the weekend, I met up with an old friend from another lifetime. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I talk. A lot. I talked myself a little hoarse by Sunday, but I woke up Monday seemingly fine. Today is Tuesday and as my day drags on, I'm losing more and more of my voice. If I have to raise my voice, I sound like a pre-teen boy. If I speak normally I sound like a chain-smoker.

That said... this is today's conversation...

I go through phases where I don't like to eat breakfast cereal. So I end up having non-traditional foods for breakfast and it doesn't matter to me, I just have to eat something when I take my stay-alive pills. This morning, I decided to have some hot dogs.

Like all old people (I'm older than you, you dang whippersnapper! Get off my lawn!), I have a certain way of doing things and I prefer to have those things done MY way! The Disabled Guy opened up a package of hot dogs. He cut a strip in the side all the way down! So, I had to ask him why.

DG: "They were giving me trouble. I had to teach them a lesson."

Me: "A lesson in what? That you abuse your power with a pair of scissors?"

DG: "Exactly! I showed them who is boss. They came out of that package just like I told them to..."

Me: "You did it wrong!" My voice cracked on "wrong"

DG: "Why does your voice sound like that?"

Me: "I told you, I talked myself hoarse this weekend."

DG: "Its Tuesday."

Me: "I know. I was fine yesterday, but when I woke up today, I was hoarse."

DG: "Ohhh, I know why."

And he stopped. I waited. So finally I had to ask, "Why?"

DG: "Because you- you talk so fast and the hoarse couldn't keep up. It couldn't run fast enough to keep up with you and today, it just finally caught up and said, 'HEE-EEEEY!'... yeah. You know it."

So, there you have it- I'm hoarse two days later because the "hoarse/horse" couldn't run fast enough to keep up with my talking.

Also- since I knew I wouldn't be home on Saturday till way later, I made chili in the crock pot. Before I left, I said to Ceej (the 17 year old), "Tell Dad that the cheese for the chili is in the drawer in the fridge!"

DG said, loudly, "I'M RIGHT HERE! I CAN HEAR YOU!"

Me: "Then where's the cheese for the chili?"

DG proudly declared: "The food is in the closet!"

Now he denies ever having said that, but he giggles maniacally when he does.

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