That is the sound of me, shouting in frustration. The fact of the matter is, I can't make a sound above a strangled whisper. Due to the fact that the only humidity in our house is provided by the fish tank, I have some seriously DRY throat machinery. As an added bonus, there's dust on my vocal chords! Hooray!
Oh, well. If I could talk, I'd probably just say something rude about work.
As it is, Himself has had a fine day watching my sign language during our interaction with various people. Like at Waffle House. I'll admit, I cheated there. While "More water, please" and "Yes, everything tastes great" are fairly easy concepts to get across, there was no way I could manage "I'd like chicken and eggs, please, with eggs over hard and hash browns scattered, smothered and covered. And wheat toast, please." without looking extraordinarily silly. I am fairly inept at ASL when it comes to the more complex ideas.
So I typed it on my phone.
The rest of the time, gestures seemed to suffice. I was able to ask the lady at the doctor's office if her scarf was handknitted and so forth. Himself is getting pretty good at interpreting, as this kind of thing happens on occasion. He was even able to figure out that one particular gesture indicated where I was going to put my knitting needles if he made any more "evil spouse" jokes about the benefits of having a mute wife.
Of course, it's hard to stay mad at a man who brings you creme brulee ice cream just because "you looked sad and I thought you needed it".