For years now, Big A has been enslaved by the power of my tears. They’ve effectively halted arguments, wrung out extended apologies, made it possible to get my way on everything, be forgiven anything, and frequently enabled good in the world.
But not anymore.
Not after he mistakenly donated my much-beloved, sample-size Italian designer jacket to Goodwill and I cried real gulping, sobbing--and per him, for the first time--angry tears at the loss. That materialism put paid to the fiction about me being a noble and sensitive soul. You can get that worked up about some silly jacket? Really?!
That means no more Magic of Tears™ in this household.
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1 comment:
I feel your pain. When I misplace a beloved top I go crazy! I couldn't imagine if hubby actually donated it by mistake. I love my clothes -- I'm emotionally attached to them.
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