let's go with that

"Your voice," he texts me, "sounds nothing like I had it in my head."

I sigh, and answer:  "I get that a lot.  People who've only heard me on the phone invariably assume I'm older than I really am."

I have a voice that is described on good days as merely "deep."  On bad days, I get, "You sound like a man."  (Coincidentally, my sister says that more often than anybody else.  Something about being the most genetically similar person to me on the planet exempts her from being tactful.)  The voice is an advantage in my professional life, since I work with a lot of clients exclusively via phone, but in most other situations I'm just a bit of an auditory oddball.

I have a standard response to comments on the subject. "Well," I’ll say, "it comes in handy when you want to do the Jessica Rabbit thing, but a career as a famous soprano is out."  When singing, in fact, I'm a contralto -- although applying that term to my warbling is probably an insult to any number of leading ladies.  Per Wikipedia, there are quite a few of them.  Fiona Apple, Toni Braxton, Judy Garland, Lady Gaga, Patsy Cline, Etta James, Alicia Keyes, Chaka Khan, Annie Lennox, Reba McIntire, Stevie Nicks, Katy Perry, Carly Simon, and Amy Winehouse are (although the meanings of the term are a little looser outside of classical music) also considered contraltos.

This boy and I have been trading texts and the odd voicemail for weeks.  At some point, I make a cheeky comment about whether or not we'll ever see each other in person.  He answers:  "Yes, Clare, we are going to hang out, you with your sultry voice."

Sultry.  That sounds good.  Let's go with that.