Quel Outrage, or Even Authors Get the Strep

In AP French, we had to read "Le Cid." I found it boring. The action was predictable, and they kept using the same end rhymes: orage (storm), dommage (shame...I think), outrage. As in, "quel outrage"--what an outrage--an expression we were quick to adopt.

My friend's French mom found these outbursts extremely annoying. I never quite understood why, but there was something ungrammatical about "quel outrage," or perhaps outdated. But I care little enough to say that I will be the first in line to shout,

Quel outrage,
I have strep throat!

Guys, I have *never* had strep throat. Cakefamily doesn't get strep. I had my tonsils and adenoids out before I knew what they were, and I've never even had so much as a throat culture. But after three days of waking to the feeling of a small golf ball on the left side of my throat, I decided I should seek medical advice, and after thirty seconds of gagging and seven minutes of waiting on the test, I found out that the disease was mine, saith the lord.

I know that many people are suffering far worse diseases, and I've felt much worse than this in my life, but I can't help feeling like I let my family down, and myself down, in succumbing to this. Who passed on the dreaded bacteria? Why was I not able to fight it? Was it the round of penicillin I downed last month for an ear infarction? Tiredness? Travelling? Poor quality moral fiber? NB, Department of Complaints: I want an explanation.

Tragically, the antibiotics are not taking action as soon as I'd like. The golf ball may now only feel like a pea, but it is still preventing thoughtless swallowing. I feel slightly feverish and vaguely vague. And to all this I say, boo! Boo! Quel outrage!