The Leak is Sprung

The Leak is Sprung

I don’t like the word “crying.” I think “leaking” would be a more appropriate term.  “Crying” sounds like something a baby or a little girl does. It sounds childish and really quite pitiful. Definitely not something a self-respecting woman would want to be caught dead doing.  
I can’t speak for all women but I know that when I cry, it’s most certainly not done voluntarily.  It just happens. And once it starts it’s damn near impossible to stop.  It’s an uncontrollable force of nature like gravity pulling water through a hole in the bottom of a bucket. Some days my bucket is the size of a shot glass, and sometimes it’s a swimming pool, but no matter how much water is there to begin with, once the leak is sprung, it’s not stopping until there’s nothing left to leak.  
Leaking is more than just crying; it’s more than just tears.  I don’t just leak from my eyes; I leak from my entire face. I’ve got the tears flowing, the nose running through every Kleenex I can find, and then there’s the drooling. It’s not that I become a human shaped Saint Bernard, slobbering all over myself, but there’s a definite increase in saliva that easily qualifies as a “leak.”
I feel much better about myself when I’m leaking than when I’m crying.  Leaking feels less childish and gets you off the hook a bit since it’s involuntary and all. And most importantly, it makes crying kind of funny…and if you can still find the ability to laugh at yourself, maybe you’re not so pitiful after all.