When in danger of singing in what might be called "the phlegmish language," if I figure my voice might betray its current delicate condition, I sometimes quote Shakespeare, thus:
Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? —William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act V, scene 3.
and try to make some weak joke out of it. It usually gets a chuckle at least.
Anyway, good luck! I'm sorry I missed you in Seattle awhile back.