My car’s radio has been set to country lately because I’ve been shuttling my niece back and forth from the Naval Academy and country is her jam. It’s a Pennsyltucky thing.
It’s listening to country that I discovered that in “country” areas, there are parties running in every empty field, 24/7. Tear down a building or put up a patch of corn and within ten minutes fifteen pickup trucks will show up with an infinite amount of beer.
The north seems so dull now.
The whoopin’ it up nature of most of the tunes didn’t prepare me for Miranda Lambert’s “The House that Built Me” which they slipped in there somewhere between a field party and a breakup recovery session at the local watering hole. Miranda started singing about how her favorite dog is buried under the tree in the back, and I burst into tears. I was just going to the food store, for crying out loud. I didn’t sign up for some emotional roller coaster.
I’ve never been a big crier, but as I get older, it seems everything makes me cry. The dog bit was easy to figure out; our dog, Gordon is ten, and we live in constant fear of illness or death. But the list of things that make me tear up gets longer and longer every year. Some of the top offenders include:
- The sound of children singing.
- Anything sweet and innocent.
- Choirs.
- Pitch Perfect 1 & 2
- People achieving their dreams
- Anyone on America’s Got Talent with a touching story and a modicum of talent. (luckily that doesn’t happen much)
- Anyone crying about anything.
- Commercials with dogs doing anything.
Speaking of which, that commercial about the guy spending a final day with his old dog doing all the things he loves to do should be outlawed. That is just NOT FAIR.
The only good thing is every time I feel myself tear up, I look at my husband sitting on the sofa beside me and see he, too, is misty eyed.
We’re disasters together, so I guess that’s okay.
