It’s a good thing my job depends on writing, not talking. I’ve lost my voice (“Hey, no snickering out there!”). I don’t have a fever or chills or a sore throat, but the glands in my throat feel swollen and my voice comes out as a throaty whisper, like a manlier Kathleen Turner. So here I am drinking hot tea and proof-reading the next issue of Catholic World Report and laughing at my funny voice.
In fact, I didn’t know what it sounded like until my brother called and I tried to talk to him. So funny.