Cry you a river? You don't have to ask me twice.

Today I have been what is known in pre-schools nationwide as a "cry baby".

I have cried and cried and cried and just when I was pretty sure I was completely dehydrated and should be hospitalized in order to receive fluids intravenously, I cried some more. If I wasn't so sad, I'd be impressed by my own fortitude.

"Say something nice to me," I said to Mr. Man as I blew my nose into his shirt sleeve.

"What do you want me to say?" my snot covered husband asked. Even though we have played this game for nearly six years, he's still amazingly fuzzy about the rules.

"Tell me why you love me," I whimpered. "Say something that will make me all ooey-gooey inside. Make me feel better."

"Hmmm," said the man. And then he whipped out the cure-all generic phrase that he thinks is the single nicest thing a man can say to a woman in any and all situations where tears are involved. "I love you."

It was at this point my crying officially turned into shoulder-shaking, scaring-the-dog sobbing and Mr. Man glazed over much the way I do when someone uses the word "eschew".

"You're pretty!" he said as fast as he could. "You're hot! You're gorgeous! I would never leave you no matter what you did or how often you did it!" My weeping had brought on a serious case of Tourette's, except instead of shouting obscenities, he was blurting out compliments.

Of course, every woman knows that once you have to ask a man to say something nice to you, anything he says is immediately disqualified. "You're only saying that because I made you!" I sobbed. "You don't really mean it. I'm fat and old and disgusting and no one in their right mind would ever want me. I want to go to bed and eat sugary foods until I am approximately the size of a baby elephant."

Poor Mr. Man. Tears, tears everywhere and not a drop of formaldehyde to sprinkle on a handkerchief and hold over my mouth and nose to shut me up.

Eventually I did finally stop crying, but in all honesty, cookie dough was involved. So much cookie dough in fact that as I write, I'm thinking I'd probably better get to the kitchen and whip up a Rolaids smoothie. Cookie dough is pretty much a first time around pleasure.

Don't worry about me, kids. I'm feeling much better now and the good news is the swelling in my eyes is on it's way down. By tomorrow, I should begin to resemble a human being again. As for tonight, Mr. Man is not taking any chances. He's never been more happy to have to work in his entire life.

Little does he know I've already sent him an email with only one sentence.

"Say something nice to me."


Copyright © 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.



Visit Ms. Crazy On Her Face Online

Blogroll Me!