My voice quakes when I speak. It irritates the hell out of me and embarrasses me in social situations. The quaking thing crept up on me over time, starting when I married my husband and took on the surname “Lamb”.
I tell you this as a precaution. A public service announcement, of sorts. Before you say “I do” and decide to pack in your maiden name in that hazy, romantic, doe-eyed stage that sets in when he presents you with a rock reminiscent of the Hope diamond–think long and hard, ladies.
My maiden name was perfectly normal and had nothing to do with woolly animals. Like I said, the quiver began just as I drove away from the church, tin cans clattering in a trail behind the “getaway car”. The quaking was insidious back then; a little catch in my throat here, a tiny jangle of my vocal chords there.
Now, after nearly forty years of marriage, when asked my name, I respond in a timorous, quavering voice a la Katharine Hepburn in On Golden Pond. Whereas Kate received an Oscar for her performance, I get a snort and a chuckle from my audience.
“Hi, what’s your name?” a new acquaintance will ask.
“I’m Heather L-a-a-a-mb,” I bleat.
Okay, Wiseacre. It’s pretty funny. But just remember my warning the day you decide to become Mrs. Lipschitz.
Baa, baa for now.
