Dave and I are watching What Happens in Las Vegas (and yes, I do recommend it). Dave asks me to pass the Kleenex. I blindly hand it over to him and joke about him getting weepy, knowing he’s probably just got sinus issues. My husband is the most stoic person you’ll ever meet. I think he might have shed a tear at the delivery of our son, but it could have been seasonal allergies.
Later in the movie, when a certain couple is dancing their “first dance,” I turn to him and he’s all red-eyed and teary.
“Are you crying? Seriously? Really? You are crying?”
“Well, yeah. It’s touching.”
“Oh my Gosh, you are such a girl. How do you function when you DJ weddings? ‘Uh, excuse me. We need the DJ to announce the cutting of the cake. Where’s the DJ?’ ‘I think that’s him over in the corner blubbering.’”
“Well, the father-daughter dances are the worst.”
My husband is just one shoe-shopping spree away from being gay. (Costco tennis shoes don’t count…Do they?)
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