Tears suck! If you hold them back, you get a headache. If you let them out, you look like a puffy-red-eyed-wombat of sorts, plus you’re a pansy. I don’t like being a pansy.
Welling up and becoming a whimpering fool only implies you’re a big ole girl. Don’t know about you, but I hate this aspect of being girly, that and the accusations about being a female driver, but that’s for another day. I just hate being a typical crybaby. It doesn’t become me…in any sense.
Plus, guys, I know how you feel about crying: It makes you want to catch a plane to Yemen so that you don’t have to deal with us!
Seriously, no good comes from sniveling. There I am with itchy, red, patchy eyes puffing up like a dead body on NCIS. Nobody looks good when they cry a rainstorm. If the eyes weren’t enough, then you start sniffing back snot making a hideous rumbling noise and yet it still comes running down as quickly as the tears. You can try to wipe it up, but there’s no use when you’ve got dry lips and stringy saliva fighting for your attention. Of course, it’s at that point that you start to try to choke back the sobs and it comes out in bursts of words from a quivering jaw. Oh, yeah, ain’t nothing pretty about a big ole tearjerker!
Of course, the worst part comes later…when you accidentally walk by a mirror and realize to your horror that if life didn’t suck enough already, you now look like you belong in the Thriller video with your red eyes, pasty coloring, and scary appearance. The problem is, it only makes you want to cry more, which then leaves you dehydrated when you go to bed to be in denial about said sadness. The next morning, you wake up stuffed up and feeling like ultimate crap. Boy, it just never ends. Damn vicious cycles.
At this point, I will neither confirm nor deny that I have shed tears in the past 48 hours. But if I were to say I had, which I’m not saying I did, even though cell phones now ruin my reputation, I still will not take any crap for crying. I blame it fully on lack of sleep and hormones that no girl should have to have. It could not possibly be my fault that I personally become a non-understandable driveling mess. If people wouldn’t decide to move away, take different jobs, graduate and make me proud, or die, this stuff would not happen! I mean, really, people, can’t you just keep the status quo so I don’t have any grief???
And I know, I know, that’s just what happens in life. There are good days and there are bad days and everybody has emotions. Blah, blah, blah.
Just give me the testosterone shot and leave me to thoughts of beer, wings, and porn.