Squish squish darling.

After watching BrokeBack Mountain (at the risk of sounding cynical, why did they not take the father-in-laws money and move to, I don't know, San Francisco?) I felt like Tony Curtis trying to seduce Marilyn in Some Like It Hot. “Like my heart had been shot full of Novocain. I felt nothing. Numb.” People all around me were sniffling, crying and carrying on all sorts. As I sat in this sea of Kleenex consuming blubbering Mcblubbersons, it hit me that I don’t cry. Very often.

My ex accused me of being too stoic for my own good. I disagree as I am not “indifferent to or unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain” - I just don’t show it through a salty discharge on my face. What can I say, I am a WASP, I just don’t do that. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t. In fact I bet I can count the times I have shed tears on my fingers and have digits left over.

Not included of course are the years of non-stop (according to ALL my relatives) crying from birth until say the age of 2. My earliest crying memory has me running into the kitchen in my Cub uniform (something that survived my recent purge because of my merit badges - one for sewing and one for housekeeping, Good Lord, how many clues did I need?) hamster in hand, stiff with rigor mortis, screeching “Hammy is dead!” That hardened me to pet death. I went through numerous hamsters, a guinea pig, 2 birds a family dog and several of my sister’s cats without shedding a tear. They all received a proper burial in the backyard, cigar box where applicable, and I planted flowers on the grave, but I did not water them with tears.

Physical pain makes me cry. Even there though, I can only think of one time. I got caught between a curb and cement truck making a right turn. Suffice it to say that my bike peddle pierced my calf muscle and tore it in two. I cried - but also swore at the driver so loud that on lookers were shocked at the foul language coming out of my mouth more than the carnage. I hobbled up the street and collapsed on the ground as the truck continued to pummel my bike. The driver didn’t know if he was still on me or not and kept backing up and going forward trying to free me. There’s one guy you don’t need in an emergency. I told the police my mother was shopping at a nearby grocery store and they went to get her. The cashier had her paged and when she heard of my fate turned to the police officer and asked “well what am I supposed to do with all these groceries?” Talk about WASP.

Incident three is pet related also. When I moved overseas, I had to give away my beloved 80 lb lap dog Loofah. She went to a lovely family that had a Doberman too and loved her to pieces. The day I dropped her off I collapsed into Barbara’s arms saying “she better look after my dog or else.” Aunt Shyla (the pimp in the doggie exchange) later told me Barbara didn’t know what to do with this 190 lb man that was threatening her but crying at the same time. Sad.
Then there was ‘the’ funeral. See entry on my Grandmother’s funeral. But that is the only one I’ve cried at. I guess I am too busy thinking about the egg salad sandwiches.

But the jewel in my crown was an appalling public display on an airplane. Despite my reaction to BrokeBack Mountain (along with numerous other ‘tear jerkers’ - Titanic, Moulin Rouge, Steal Magnolias, The English Patient -not only didn’t cry, hurry up and die already, my ass fell asleep 20 minutes ago) one movie did bring me to tears. There is no excuse, but there were several contributory factors. I had just spent two weeks in the Guatemalan jungle, stopped in Los Angeles for 3 days to visit my friend Sarah and had consumed 6 Bloody Mary's. Plus champagne. And a Bailey’s on ice. The air mattress made me do it! Anyway, the in flight movie was, get ready for it, Independence Day. I know. I am the first to say it - pathetic. When Randy Quiad’s (also in BrokeBack, weird) last missile misfired, and he realized he had to sacrifice himself for the good of the American Empire, he says “tell my children their father loves them very much.” Well, that was it. I am not talking a few soap opera tears here, I was in a pool in my seat. I was like Nelly Olson, Tanya Harding and Jerry Falwell all rolled into one. Did I mention I had already seen the movie? Twice? Like I said, pathetic.