Pay no attention to that sobbing woman in the corner.

Credit: Hyperbole and a Half

Apparently, I’m a crier now.

Once upon a time, I approached life with the measured rationality of a German or, as Tiny Fey so aptly puts, the torpor of a possum. Certainly, I cried when life threw giant curveballs my way – death, loss, extreme duress. Naturally.

I didn’t, however, get weepy at such silly things as thank-you cards, butterflies, or not being able to tie my running shoes tightly enough. But now? Now, I am a crier, my friends, and I f*cking hate it.

It wasn’t a gradual thing either. One day, possum status. The next, I was at dinner relaying information about gluten free flours and just started crying.

Apparently garbanzo bean flour kicks me in the feelings. Hard.

It’s getting bad – like, Kim Kardashian Crying Meme bad. Last week, when pulling out of our driveway, I commented on the fact that, due to the ice storm, the neighborhood had to cut down half of the trees in front of our house. “Oh no, Jo!” I exclaimed, “Your one beauty!”

All of us in possession of ovaries know that quote is from Little Women. Carter, fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your persuasion, does not possess ovaries and, therefore, did not know the quote’s origin. Thus, I relayed the entire plot of Little Women to him. Because of course.

I say that I relayed the entire plot, but that’s hardly true. I got to the part where Beth died and recited the whole “Now I’m the one going ahead” soliloquy, which I know by heart, and just lost it.

Sidebar: For those of you shrieking and pulling your hair because I didn’t shout “Spoiler Alert” before spilling the beans that Beth kicks the bucket, the book is more than 100 years old. You’ve had time. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t. And if you shrieking maniacs are women who have gotten this far in life without reading Little Women, well, I don’t even know if I can look at you anymore. ….through this screen. *sigh*

Don’t even get me started on the Budweiser commercial with the puppy and the clydesdale who are best friends. I saw it on tv the other day and sobbed inconsolably for 15 minutes. And while, yes, I know I’m prone to exaggeration, let me assure you that I mean that I cried for a very literal 15 minutes.

In fact, here is my crying log. I created it because, for the last 15 years of my life, my eyes didn’t leak very often. The startling regularity of this event of late has made me curious and, like any amateur scientist, curiosity means the rigorous collection of data. Or at least that’s what I think I remember from high school chemistry. Here is my log, complete with the cause of the crying and then, in column B, how long I wept without hope of consolation while clutching my beagle and making my really ugly sobbing face.

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I can’t even talk about this whole Olympic thing. I was at home when Meryl Davis and Charlie White won the gold in ice dancing and started sobbing because she looks just like a Disney princess and he looks like the male human version of Lola and, somehow, the combination of those two facts turns me into a crumpled heap of Slanket-wearing hysteria.

Before any of you scream “pregnant!,” allow me to assure you that I know, for a fact, that I am not. How do I know? I am a compulsive taker of pregnancy tests. It’s pretty much my superpower, though that is a topic deserving of its own post. Someday, my loves. Someday I will give you the full view into my crazed, neurotic mind.

We’ll chalk it up to hormones or something like it. Isn’t the root of all evil hormonal in nature?

Of course it is.

As it’s finally Friday, however, I’ll try to keep my weeping to a minimum and exclusively relegated to things cute, fuzzy, and non-literary.

Any big weekend plans, kittens? I’d love to hear about them. Also, ladies over 28, did you notice a gigantic emotional shift in your late 20’s? Enlighten me.

No, really. I want answers.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to have a glass of chocolate almond milk.

Given recent events, I’ll probably cry because it’s not ice cream. C’est la vie, AmIRight?

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Comments:

  1. *giggle snort* Hubby swears he knows when to pick up overtime at work, cause I start crying like I’m 9 months preggers over cat food commercials. And Cheerios commercials. And beer commercials. (I outright turn the channel or throw large objects at the screen while screaming inventive threats at pet adoption commercials.)
    I read somewhere a woman’s body chemistry changes on average once every 7 years. Umm…I’ll let you break the news to Carter that he’s only got a little over six more years of this to get through. *passes the Puffs*

    • Oh, man. 7 years?!?!? How shall we endure!? I’m glad I’m not the only one. My friend calls those pet adoption commercials “puppy abuse porn.” Don’t show me that! I’m a dog lover! It breaks me!

  2. I’ve never been much of a crier. It’s not that things don’t move me; I just don’t leak easily. Honestly, I wish I did a bit more. I always admire women who can feel something and do that graceful tear dripping. It shows their ability to feel deeply. If I do cry, I snot and my face contorts and then my mascara runs and my eyes disappear without their make up. It’s just ugy.

    However, my husband can be watching a coffee commercial about a son sneaking in to wake up his family with fresh coffee and silently weep. We (my kids and I) mock him a little.

    Keep crying. It shows your depth and ability to be moved (seriously). I think it’s an admirable quality.

    • I’ve always been able to cry over major life events, but I’ve never been a daily or even monthly crier. It’s just not been me. Now? Oh, man. I cried this morning just thinking about the Sarah Burke special NBC did last night. Devastating.

  3. yes!!!

    have you seen ‘up’? i watched it on sunday and for two hours afterwards i couldn’t stop crying because people who are young will one day be old.

    i don’t think i get through a day without tearing up over something. and it’s really frustrating because i always think i’m in a normal, healthy mood and going along with life, but then i see an older woman alone at a bus stop or think of a moment from ‘anne of green gables’ or hear a mourning dove and that’s the rest of my day.

  4. Danielle Jeffs says:

    Ahhhh yes. I am 33 and about 4-5 years ago I became this emotional basket-case. I am now a crier, big time lol. Thank god my boyfriend is so understanding. We were at the casino the other day and a little old man who was a Vietnam vet came strolling past us with his walker. My bf is a vet, so he went over to shake his hand. (He does this to every vet he sees so I should be used to it lol). I lost it. Tears everywhere, sobbing, etc. Then I started crying on the way home because I was sad that the man was there by himself. Some days are better than others lol

    • I do a lot of work with Vietnam war veterans. That would have made me sob hysterically, too!

      • Danielle Jeffs says:

        Anything to do with war veterans or our service men and women makes me cry.

        TV, movies, books, commercials, events, etc. they have all made me tear up or sob.

        The older I get, the more my body changes in one way or another. Good luck to you! I’m happy you have a great husband who will be understanding (well, I’m sure he will try to be lol)

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