So yes, I do have a frog in my throat.
In all the lovely ways that irony plays itself out in my life, it now appears that I've got laryngitis, which wouldn't be so bad in and of itself were it not for the fact that it is accompanied by a particularly unlovely hacking cough. But people tell me guys like a raspy voice - although, when I was out last night (I mean, it was a party in the penthouse with open bar - couldn't turn it down!), I seemed to be only able to find gay guys to talk to. But they were far more brilliantly interesting than anyone else there. I mean, I don't know who else would propose brownie shots (actually, just brownies that we "clinked", took a bite of, and then immediately returned to the tray because they were gross) and with whom I could've had a more scintillating talk about human sexuality. And while I find it rather hard to talk on the phone, I do inspire all sorts of pity with my consumptive cough. Or, at least, I can use it as an excuse to skip classes, because even if I don't feel bad, I at least sound like I'm carrying the plague.
And in times like this, is there anything better than grilled cheese sandwiches (made with homemade bread, of course) and tomato soup? Because if there is, I haven't found it yet).