My stormy mood had casted a dark cloud over breakfast with my hubby. Since I did not have a good reason when asked about my crying, my hubby excused himself taking his coffee with him and left me to cry as I washed up the breakfast plates.
Later in the morning, when my tear ducts finally shut down, I pondered on my husband’s question. What had set off my crying spell? Why was I so sensitive? I then reviewed how my days went during the week: at the bank, I was passed over by the manager to an inexperienced clerk. In the end, the manager hastily came back to help me with hardly an apology. At the meat shop, the attendant did not follow my instructions on how to cut up the meat I asked for because she was in a hurry to attend to another customer; at the check-out counter, the cashier thought nothing about telling me that she would not give me the correct change—what’s a few cents. Two nights ago, just as I was about to fall asleep, our dog thought it would be fun to have a barking match with a frog. Then yesterday, the carpenter who had been working on our windows had not come back to finish the job. And, my DVD player would not play my exercise video. Intersperse these incidents with upsetting news on the teevee and top with (constructive) criticisms and comments from my hubby on how I went about doing things around the house and wham!
I guess pride, frustration, and lack of patience got the better of me. Or maybe it's a case of cabin fever or my hormones were up to no good again. Who really knows for sure.
I remember my niece, N, who would cry because of some frustration. And when told to stop crying, she would angrily respond, “I can’t. Even if you tell me to stop crying, I just can’t.” And so I would let her continue her crying business (as I called it) until she just stopped.
Well, I guess it’s just one of those days when I needed to let my crying business run its course.
----xoxoxoxox---
I remember as a child how easily I could be brought to tears. At the slightest provocation, my tears came flooding down my face and my nose would soon turn red. If I were a fruit, I would be a papaya. A small cut and sap is sure to come out.
I could not and still cannot survive a good teasing—I am too sensitive and take things very personally. In my high school yearbook, one classmate wrote that I was the class crybaby. And oh, the horrors of my hormonal swings!! Those days could be compared to the great flood of Noah’s time.
But luck is on my side. I am blessed with the ability to bounce quickly back and laugh at this quirky side of me.
-----xoxoxoxox----
It’s lunch time, and I had decided to serve up some grilled cheese sandwiches and a carrot-apple slaw to go with my chicken pot pie. I called out to my hubby and told him lunch was ready. I was placing the pie on the table when he came and gave me a hug from behind and asked if I was alright. I smiled and told him that the crying diva had left the building— for now : )
Grilled Cheese Sandwich
Four slices of bread
Grated cheese
Butter
Butter up the slices of bread and spread the grated cheese on top.
Put on a baking pan and toast up in the oven until cheese has melted.
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