Happy Tears
“What the hell are happy tears?” My Man asked.
“Those are tears you cry when you’re happy. Haven’t you ever cried happy tears? Didn’t you cry happy tears when your kids were born?” I asked, knowing how dedicated My Man is to his children, evidenced by the numerous activities he delivers them to weekly, and by his ability not to choke them out when they don’t want to get out of bed in the morning.
“Ummmm. . . no, because if I did I’d have a vagina,” My Man said.
Interesting, I thought. Is it only the fairer sex who cries happy tears?
I needed to do more research on this subject.
So I posed the same question to a bunch of the guys I work with while sitting around the lunch table yesterday. They all screwed up their faces in the same quizzical way, and cocked their eyebrows at me like I was nuts for even insinuating there might be even a drop of ocular saltwater shed over happiness.
“If I was really happy and I had a tail, I’d wag it. But happy tears? Oh hell no,” said my boss.
“If I had cried “happy tears” when my kids were born, my wife would’ve kicked me out of the room and told me not to come back until I had that shit fixed,” said the operations manager.
“Don’t they make a pill for that?” said another one.
So I’m getting the picture that most guys don’t cry happy tears. I think in general most guys reserve crying for emotions on the opposite side of the spectrum, and only take them out when they really need them—like when they get their dick caught in their zipper, or when the really hot chick they’ve been dying to bone finally agrees to a rut-fest, but not without a condom, and the one they’ve been carrying around in their wallet for just such an occasion is dry and brittle and crumbles in their sweaty hands.
But I’ll tell you what. I’m good with the fact My Man doesn’t cry happy tears. I much prefer a happy slap on the ass from him anyway.
