Hurrah!

My bronchitis is gone! All that lingers is an unfortunate hoarseness of the throat which affords me the extremely displeasing sympathy of errant students I attempt to scold. 'Ah!' cried the blonde undergraduate I was extracting a fine from this morning. 'You poor dote! I'm in pain just listening to you!' This will not do. Pity does not command respect. Also, I am starting to sound like a pre-pubescent boy, with my voice wheeling and wavering and cracking at inopportune times. Inopportune times means, in this instance, when you are telling noisy students to shush, or making announcements over the intercom, or singing 50 Cent's Many Men in the staff room thinking you are alone but actually are not. One's gangsta machismo falters slightly when one is suddenly singing in a little girl falsetto.