I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I became a slobbering, mushy, sentimental mess. And nothing seems to bring it out in me so consistently as Glee.
Yes.
Glee.
A stupid Fox series about a high school glee club leads me to reach for the tissues and wish I wore water-proof mascara.
Whether it's Kurt and his dad so honestly and tenderly navigating the terrain of teenage homosexuality and bullying or evil Sue Sylvester mourning the loss of her pure-hearted sister - I just can't hold back the tears.
If it's Tuesday and I happen to catch an episode, I'll also be sniffling and wiping away tears. The first time it happened I thought it was a fluke. I must have been premenstrual or oddly weakened by stress/illness/work/lack of sleep/lack of exercise/lack of wine/too much wine (you get the idea).
But no -
It happened again.
And again.
And (shamefully) again.
I don't want to think too hard about what this pattern says about me. I like to think that it means I'm a gentle and delicate flower who is so empathetic and compassionate that even a fictionalized portrayal of human suffering or triumph or struggle or self-realization touches my tender heart and leads to the subsequent saline and snot snivelling that shortly ensues.
But I don't know anyone who will buy that delicate flower shtick.
Maybe it's early-onset menopause. Maybe I'm bi-polar in the face of musical dramedy. Maybe it's just one of life's mysteries. Whatever it is, I don't think it's going away...for now I guess all I can do is try to avoid TV on Tuesday nites or stock up on the tissues.
