Her voice was ever soft, gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman.
~ Shakespeare, King Lear, V-iii
Well, two out of three ain’t bad.
The Cold, It Lingers. RIght in my chest *hack* And throat.
I’ve got a wicked case of laryngitis. My voice -- it’s a little froggy. A little spotty. More than a little husky. And very, very low.
Sultry? I’d like to think so.
Whenever I get one of these germy things that hangs on and on and on... and on, it invariably ends up squatting in my throat. Right around ye olde vocal chords. Often times, like today, I sound worse than I really feel. Which can sometimes work to one’s mischievous advantage. Not that I’d know anything about that.
I’ve been told I sound like a plethora of different people when my dulcet tones shift into low gear.
Brenda Vacarro.
Suzanne Pleshette (RIP).
Elaine Stritch.
Sheneneh (from Martin Lawrence’s eponymous TV series).
Out of those options, I think I'll take Vacarro. But don't ask me to pimp tampons -- even I have my limits.
My voice modulates on the low side normally -- I’m a second alto in any choir in which I sing. I have a worse falsetto than some dudes -- trying to sing along with Sting and Stewart this afternoon was a painful experience for the throat and the ears.
However, I can also drop the voice down in a 1-900 number kinda way, when the occasion merits such shenanigans. I once recorded the outgoing message on a (male) friend’s answering machine. His mother called and wanted to know “who that woman was”... when he told her it was me, she was not impressed. And never really looked at me the same way again. If you ever need any obscene phone calls made (from your phone, not mine -- caller ID, you know) I’m your girl.
Who knows how long this thing is going to hang around -- but if you have any ideas on how to further exploit my throaty self, I’m open to suggestions...
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