Rarely do I catch Amy even approaching an 'overly-dramatic' phase. She is the most even-keeled, no drama, nothing-phases-me, person I know. About two months ago, she caught a cold and chipped a tooth all in one fell swoop. As she laid on our couch convalescing she said something that wouldn't sound strange coming from the more theatric among us, but indeed did sound odd coming from her. "I'm falling apart", she said, and dare I say she said it in such a way that made me think (just for a second) that we had our first spotting of Amy drama.
Flash forward to right now. I have caught whatever bug Sam brought home from day care, gave to amy and has now been inherited by me. I'm tired, drinking pepto like it's the worlds worst tasting smoothie, and need to be downtown for a public financing bill. To top it all off at lunch today, I too, chipped a tough and am now seriously thinking that I am falling apart.
Herein lies the problem. If I submit to my nature and throw myself the pity party I so desperately want to, then I confirm all the stereotype Amy has about our relative need for drama. If, on the other hand I suck it up and be a good solider, then I don't get the requisite amount of sympathy I truly deserve.
Oh, if only I could summon whatever reserves my wife seems to have in spades. If only I could muster up some moxie and buck up. Oh, if only I could refrain from thinking what I feel is happening. But there is nothing I can do, save a total eclipse of the heart.