Mentholated Vapors

When it comes to thinking about aphrodesiacs and ways to make things more interesting around the home front, Vick's Vap-O-Rub doesn't exactly make me squeal with joy. And it's properties for spicing up an evening aren't legendary in any circles. Sadly, the summer allergies turned to a cold which is now bronchitis and a nasty sore throat requiring the addition of the balm as a remedy not a relationship spark.

I could cheerfully sing the low bass parts to all of the Tabernacle Choir catalog of music. That is, I could sing it... when I have a voice. Most of the time, I'm mute. Which is probably a great relief to everyone who knows me. I tend to be a chatterbox most of the time and I am quite sure their ears are receiving a well deserved break.

But it does tend to interfere with some aspects of daily living. Like when the phone rings and neither Jared or Gypsy can be pressed into service to answer its dulcet tones. Rotten teenager and rotten dog!

Which compels me to answer the phone with my sub-basement voice. My friend called to ask a couple of questions and thought I was my husband. Funny. In that way that it really isn't. I didn't think we sounded that much alike when we talk in any pitch. I could be wrong.

Then there are the delightful telephone surveyers who call to speak to 'the lady of the house' and get a rich baritone for their trouble. Funny thing is, they don't want to talk about feminine products with someone who sounds like they could play power forward for the Lakers. Perhaps it has it's advantages...

But it also has its drawbacks. Prequel to losing my voice entirely is this low register. Now, we are on the downhill slide where I can eek out a word from time to time but the sound can be heard only when you are within a three foot circle of my mouth. Further away and mosquitos laugh at the contrast between their 'booming' noise and my pitiful squeaks and moans.

Added emphasis to my whispering and croaking only makes the scratchiness of my throat worse and infinitely more painful upon swallowing.

So I am reduced to writing notes in large, bold print as if darker letters express urgency to other people, namely my husband, who would much rather enjoy his quiet and play with the new tablet PC that his company provided for him in replacement for the old one. Sure, abandon me for technology!

If dear hubby had learned sign language when the opportunity was offered a few years ago, we could have this thriving and exciting conversation in ASL. But as it is, I am left to scream my hands off to a man who has no clue what I am spelling...which is probably for the best when I start to spell some of the swear words that creep into the vernacular from time to time.

When Rick goes to work, I am left to hope that the people on the phone will not take advantage of the infirmity currently thrust upon me. I can't help how I sound when I have some sound at all.

Their laughter lets me feel the love...

Although I realize that this is a temporary, if painful, time that will move on in a few days, I also realize just how dependent I am on verbal communication. I can email and chat and text till I'm blue in the fingers (nice pun!) but it doesn't replace speech.

Now, it's time to go to bed. I can feel the mentholatum working and I can also feel the cold medicine taking effect on my tired eyes.


I hope tomorrow I can quit applying the Vap-O-Rub like a fragrance from the perfume counter. Somehow, I can't bring myself to believe any major manufacturer would make a lot of money with this as the 'everlasting fragrance to drive Him wild'. And frankly, I don't think I WANT to know a man who is driven to distraction by the smell of ointment.

Enjoy it while you can. I have high hopes that my voice will return some day in the not too distant future. In the meantime, the silence is a gift to you. One less voice in the cacaphony.