My Husband Talks to Himself for a Living

Ever wonder who the voice of Siri or Alexa or that guy telling you to cross the street is?

I never did, until I fell in love with a voice actor. When my husband and I were flirting during the early stages of our courtship, I thought it was wonderful!

You’re a what? A voice actor? How cool! I’ll have you tell me all my bedtime stories from now on. *Wink emoji. Smiley face. Eggplant.* Jk, I wasn’t that forward.

Now that we’re married, it’s a lot less attractive. I mean, the man spends hours in a padded box — just talking to himself!

Not only that, but when he’s in there, I — the talkative one — must sit in silence. I love talking (and making noise of all sorts)! Although I usually prefer a live audience, I talk to my plants, our cat, the doorknob I just ran into.

It’s not just the talking to himself thing that bothers me.

Before he even gets into the padded box, he does like an hour’s worth of warmup exercises. If I hear one more acapella motorboat, I’m going to capsize!
About 15 minutes into his real recording, I usually have to pee. He says he doesn’t mind if I get up to use the facilities, but I must make a noticeable sound to alert him! What is this? Gradeschool!
He’s always listening but never to me: To the sound of the fridge, the trains, the birds — everything is just too loud!
And the worst part is after a day’s worth of trying on deep sexy voices in the studio, all I get is a nasally high-pitched remnant of a human.