I've drunk enough tea this week to float the entire British Navy. So much tea that my Patriot Ancestors (that is if I have any Patriot ancestors) would be getting me ready to be tarred and feathered and writing my name under Benedict Arnold's on the traitors honor roll.
The reason? That dreaded 'L' word: laryngitis.
I started getting it on Sunday afternoon. What started out sounding like I just suddenly started smoking 3 packs-a-day, turned into the sound of an old rusty, squeaky door, and then completely went away. I mean gone. I was able to go to the doctor's finally on Wednesday (by then of course, my voice was rounding that last quarter mile pole and coming down the homestretch.) The diagnosis: allergies.