I find myself looking forward to menopause if only to end these monthly crying jags! I already cry at everything already. I do not need to cry at the caption of a picture on AOL.com’s pop-up window! I also find a tendency to use more emphatic punctutation!
When we were little and used to hang out at the mall, Karen and I would go into the Hallmark store and look around. One day, we found these stuffed baby seals with tears in their glassy eyes. I looked at one and cried. It’s been a running joke since then.
Today’s tears are not emotional, however. Today’s tears are allergy tears. My left eye is just running like a sad little faucet, sending single, glistening drops of perfection down my cheek, just like Demi Moore in Ghost.
See, if I were crying, my face, neck and chest would be sweaty, splotchy, red messes of hives. My nose would be swollen up to twice its normal size, and the whites of my eyes would be almost completely red. I cannot do the pretty cry. My cry is hit it with a stick ugly.
I will be writing more on the New York Story today. It’s funny because some of the things that happened were so surreal when they were going on that they still feel unbelievable when I am writing them out. I still shake my head over some of it. A lot of it. I mean, a man asked me for my dress. Who does that?