My wife cries at the drop of a hat.

      

Let her watch a touching movie and she’ll be sobbing at the opening scene.  Yep, right after the screen says “Touchstone Pictures Presents”.

 

       I used to laugh at her for being such a softy for these things.

 

       “Gosh sweetheart, it’s just a silly movie!  You only see the man and woman embracing each other on the screen, but in reality, eight-six people–the director, production assistants, lighting crew, special effects, make-up artist, costume, and the catering staff, surround them.  I should know.  I’ve done TV shows before and blah, blah, blah…”  (Was I a jerk or what?)

 

       But no matter what I say, she’d keep on crying anyway.  She’ll insist, “Why don’t you cry with me?  It’s such a beautiful movie!”

 

       “Me?” I roll up my eyes, “Sweetheart, I’m a guy.  Men don’t cry!”

 

       Well, that was a number of years ago.  Something has changed in me recently…

 

I’m a little embarrassed to say this, but when we watch a movie now, my wife has a new crying companion.

 

No, I still don’t cry as much as she does.  But I find my eyes very wet.

 

Honestly, because of old beliefs entrenched in me, I still don’t allow those tears to roll down my cheeks.

 

But here’s the improvement: I’m not ashamed to wipe them before they fall–and I don’t have to pretend to be scratching my eye or scratching my forehead.

 

As manly as I can, I just use my forefinger to dab the edge of my eyes.

 

Many years ago, I wouldn’t even dare wipe my tears–that would be a dead give away.  I’d just patiently wait for my tears to evaporate.

      

At first, I wanted to shout in panic: Heeeeelp!  I’m becoming a girl!

      

Or is this male menopause? 

 

Nah.

 

You know what I want to believe?  That I’m just growing more mature.  (Self-delusions are my favorite pastime.)

 

Yesterday, I read a survey: On average, wives outlast their husbands by seven years.  Because men die of heart attacks, strokes, and cancer pretty early.

 

The study says it’s not because women are stronger physically.  It’s because women’s emotional escape valves are more open than men.  Women cry, express, and tell lots of stories when they feel happy, sad, angry, fearful.  We males just sulk and watch TV when we’re sad, depressed, and angry…   So we keep our feelings bottled up inside and our hearts and veins just can’t handle them, so they explode.

 

Well, I think my emotional valves are opening up more as I get older.

 

So my wife will just have to settle with the fact that I’m not dying too early and we’ll be watching touching movies together until our nineties.

 

I can already see the scene in our darkened living room, watching on our huge home theatre system (by that time, everybody owns one).

 

I’ll hear my sexy ninety-year old wife say, “Gosh, this movie is so touching.”

 

And I’ll sob, “Yes, I can’t stop crying too.”

 

“Pass the Kleenex dear…  No, a new one from the box.  This one contains your dentures.”

 

       “Oh sorry, dear.”

 

       “I love you, sweetheart.”

 

       “I love you too.”

 

       Believe me, life cannot be sweeter than that.

 

       May your dreams come true,

 

       Bo Sanchez

 

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