Here I sit, at almost 11:30 P.M., with big old tears rolling down my face.
Dan went to bed earlier, like any sane person who has to go to work early in the morning; unlike me, who started watching a Hallmark movie, Charlie and Me, two hours ago. I was only going to see how it started. After all, it was Tivo'd, so I could finish watching it at any time. But I was hooked almost immediately, by a feisty and complicated little girl, and the grandpa who was her hero and her salvation. And I had to keep watching until the end, which is when the tears were jerked right out of some wellspring inside of me.
Last night, I attended a ladies' Bible class. It was the first one in a series, and the teacher, Sue P., started off the class by asking us what we like about being women. There were a lot of us in the class, and the list just kept growing. After watching this movie, I guess I would have one more to add to the list. I like being a woman because I enjoy "exercising" my emotions, which is what a good five-tissue movie helps me do. That's not to say that men don't sometimes "exercise" their emotions, as well, but I don't think they quite get the hang of enjoying it.
So now, I'll wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and snuggle down in bed beside my sleeping husband, not fully understanding, but fully appreciating the differences between us. And in the morning, when that alarm sounds, I'll remind myself that the enjoyment of this good cry was worth the loss of an adequate night's rest.
(And if this doesn't make much sense, I'll remind you that it's late, and I'm in a hurry to get to bed.)
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