Thou shall not speak....

Over the weekend I lost my voice. Puff and it was gone, just like that, with a tiniest sore throat. Even though I introduced healthy living recently, reducing my watershead from 11 to 10pm and playing relaxing music in the background to send me to sleep which does little else but keep me awake for an hour till it ends.
Day 3 of my inflicted demure state and I am dreading ordering lunch and coffee so much that it is now becomming a bit of an ordeal, having to explain to people what is wrong and having them look sad for me and whisper themselves.
At work it's great, I am silent assassin, the kids usually get verbal warning before I descend upon them for a proper suppernanny lecture but now they just hear woooosh as I dart towards them. And they feel they also must be quiet, which is fine by me.
I tried shouting on Monday and this tiniest sqeek came out. The six year old, currently going through a stage of perfected sarcasm looked at me and said: " Your voice is better this afternoon. You sound like someone I heard on TV. In a cartoon."

This, however did not prevent me from getting a royal treatment in my Starbucks. First they run out of soya milk, but I was told it will arrive later. Try arguing with no voice...it's hard.
Later on, the manager, my friend, recognises me, tells me he is going to fetch soya milk and bring coffee to my table. I order tall but they upgrade me to grande and now I am feeling like a real bitch.
The voucher experience already made me too ashamed to ask for Frappucino light ever again and now they spoiled my latte too.
I really have a good intention of being a bitch and yet I never manage to pull it off without some sort of guilt trip.


And now on a completely different tangent, the rat we had at work has been safely killed with a brazil nut stuck by superglue to the trap as he dodged getting caught for days, cleverly stealing nuts out of the trap and enjoying chewing on doors, washing powder box and several toys.
He even came out one evening, trying to penetrate the cupboard with sundries while I watched Narnia in the other room, mistaking his gnawing for the Beavers in the film.
When I wisened up, and went to investigate, he launched himself across the kitchen in an impressive matrix move to dive into a hole by the kitchen sink before I reached the kitchen.
I was almost sad it died.
I would write more but I must have a bath before my watershed.