Crying in my Wine Whine...

I think I was born with extra tear ducts. Seriously, I cry at the drop of a
hat. I cry when I'm happy, sad, perplexed, joyful, worried and content.
Local news stories can make me sob at the breakfast table and I think
at this stage in the game my husband has learned to just pass the tissues
and not even question my latest waterworks.

I once had to do a "personality" quiz through work and most of the people
around me were scoring in the 90th percentile for "Leadership" or "Decisiveness"
or even "Communication." I scored in the 95th percentile for "Empathy."
What can I say, I was born this way.

I don't really recall when my call to the world of tears first became apparent.
My inner circle will know the extenuating circumstances that would certainly
support my hyper-sensitivity, but crying  because of a story I read or heard
seems a bit of a stretch. I'm not a pretty crier either. It's all red nose and snot
and wet sloppy tears.  Ah, to know me is to love me.

So if you ever need to just sit and have a good cry with someone, I'm your
girl. I'm a good listener and my vault of "secrets" is massive.

Somebody bring the tissues...and a good bottle of wine.