This is me:
This is me on Laryngo-Tracheao-Whatever:
Today, Urban bundled me in the car and took me to Urgent Care, where an apparently Halfling doctor who spoke from a deep hobbit-hole (but otherwise seemed competent) accused me of Laryngo-Tracheao-Bronchitis, which is an infection & inflammation of all of the above, and borderline Pertussis, which is Whopping Cough. Before I could gather my wits and come up with a suitable retort, he was gone. This has been happening a lot lately: everything is sort of trippy and dark around the edges: events, and occasional Hobbits, seem to leap out at me, then vanish before I can react.
Not that there is a whole lot I can say in my defense. I have been whooping it up lately; also, my voice has vanished: I can only communicate via squeaks, whistles and texting. If R2D2 was a teakettle, this is what he would sound like. Urban manages to keep a straight face (most of the time) and the dogs back away slowly. The Hobbit merely shook his head and stuck a thermometer in my mouth.
Well, I am home now, fortified with tea, broth and Kick-Ass (the movie!). I am feverish, contagious and wallowing in self-pity. I have been poked, prodded, assessed and scolded. I have been plied with antibiotics and threatened with hospitalization. Cough syrup has been forced upon me.
On the upside: Urban is taking very good care of me, I’m enjoying the special effects, this isn't the Middle Ages so I won't die, and I get to eat ice cream.