The DH might think he is dying from the common cold, except this time when things got serious.
Last week, we all got an awful virus that kept S out of school for 3 days. E got pink eye, and S was jealous, because pink is her favourite colour. Thankfully this quarantine led to some potty training, but not so luckily, lots of sanitising and loads of laundry.
Anyhow, when the DH (dear husband) stayed in bed all day, I eye-rolled him. Really? We all have this bug. Could you maybe help out?
Then he couldn’t open his mouth all the way, and I got a bit worried, but I still suspected he was malingering. Man who cried flu thing, I guess.
I told my friend at a playdate that I was so happy to get out of the house because James was ill and had the lamest voice ever. It was so annoying that during a conversation with him, I finally said, “I’ll just text you” and left. Anything to make him stop talking in that horrendous fake voice.
But when my DH’s GP recommended he go straight to the hospital, and he got triaged pretty fast, I felt pretty bad about the name calling I was doing in my head. But I felt TERRIBLE when the ENT said he had all the classic signs of an abscessed tonsil including . . . the hallmark HOT POTATO VOICE, which if left unmonitored could interfere with his airway.
Just to load that baked potato, he would need an emergency procedure and an overnight hospital stay. Oops.
They call it the hot potato voice because it sounds like you are eating a hot potato and trying to talk. It sounds worse than nails on a chalk board if you ask me. Go ahead, YouTube it. So while the DH sounded like he had a hot potato in his mouth, I had humble pie in mine.
And for my next blog post: Slow to Anger – because the hot potato voice just shouldn’t annoy me that much.