My Laryngitis Proves Minnie Mouse is Both Curious and Important

Before two days ago whenever I talked about losing my voice,  I only meant it metaphorically. I was merely a creative spirit with a few things to say, a constipated artist, trying to figure out how to release my stuff. Oh, the pain of it.

In retrospect, I just should have been glad I didn’t sound like a mouse.

Yesterday, hurling down I-95, bivouacked in the confines of the family vehicle, I had a million questions. My family told me how cute I sounded.

I’ve never been a big fan of the cute. Feeling totally dis-empowered I nicknamed myself Minnie Mouse before anyone else had the chance to. Instead of putting a giant bow on my head, I made myself more “cute” by addressing them all as “Mickey.” It was better than playing with a tank of helium, I tell ya.

The girls laughed then fell asleep. Dave laughed (I think) and settled into the serious task of driving. We didn’t talk for the entire depth of North Carolina. He seemed remarkably okay with this.

The only thing that was bumper to bumper were the questions that were getting backed up in my mind. Until then I seriously thought I was the quiet one.

When this morning rolled around, although sympathetic and kind, understandably my family didn’t much empathize with my current handicap. To top it off I was horrified to find out that overnight my ability to vocalize had diminished even further.

I stood at the top of the stairs and opened my mouth to holler down to them. Nothing. A few seconds later they yelled “goodbye,” and all I could hear was the emptiness of the backdoor shut behind them.

So a few breakfasts were skipped, teeth un-brushed, and  papers forgotten. I never realized I was so important.

Today the question is, who is the boss of this suburban parcel to which we are assigned? The Labradoodle or me? First Lily dug a giant hole in the yard. Later she ran across the street in pursuit of a wild cat.

“Bad dog” flying out of my mouth sounded ridiculous. I hissed a command to “come” in her direction. Her eyes lifted more in response to the vibrations than the vocalism of it, and set on something beyond me towards the parameter. She thinks she is the new alpha.

I understand now why Minnie was always so dolled up. Tomorrow if I can’t talk, in order to get some attention, I’m going to put on a polka dotted dress, glue on some fake eyelashes and make the questionable fashion decision to wear dark tights with white shoes.  Maybe Lily will at least respond?