Tuesday, July 31, 2012

In which, Small Fry has a realization.

Mommy is a contralto!

When, around a french fry, I scolded Small Fry (terrible manners, I know) for not eating but instead trying to see what Large Fry (who was done with her dinner) was doing, she said this:
Mommy, why did you talk like a boy?


"What do you mean, why did I talk like a boy?"

"Ida know."  (Yes, the mysterious Family Circus character lives here, too.)

I can only surmise that my growl around the french fry held a deeper timbre than normal.

Get used to it, kiddo.  I can go halfway down the bass clef without flinching.


  1. My brood always knows that when I drop an octave, it's their last warning.

    1. If I could pull that off, I'd have mastered AD's I Will Be Obeyed voice.

      My biggest claim to fame in that regard (besides flipping out my husband in choir practice, before we were even dating, by singing along with the basses during part of the Amen Chorus of Handel's Messiah) was that there was a guy I knew in high school who refused to ask me out...because my voice was lower-pitched than his.

      And he'd never heard me sing. That would have really freaked him out.

      It was kinda painful then, but amusing now.


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