I was driving in this crazed city the other day and it was raining yet again.
“Oh, she’s crying,” I said
A woman was crossing the street, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy and she wasn’t trying to hide the fact.
“Poor thing,” I thought. I hate to see people crying, especially kids and women.
“If she’s crying, it means she’s alive,” my passenger in the car said.
“What does that mean? I asked.
“Well, if you’re crying, it means you’re real.”
“But, I wonder why she’s crying?”
“Probably some guy dumped her.”
“Why do you assume that?”
“Cause guys suck.”
“How can you be so sure?” I inquired.
“Because I’ve been there and those tears are saying, some jerk just dumped me!”
“What if she lost her job or someone died?”
“That isn’t the type of crying she’s doing. That’s breakup crying.”
“How can you be so certain? You don’t have much faith in the male race do you?”
“We always know when another one from the clan got dumped. And she just got dumped.”
“Maybe she got eliminated from American Idol,” I said. “Or maybe she’s a Cleveland Cavaliers fan? Or she feels bad for Charlie Sheen? Or she was a big supporter of Qaddafi? Who knows?”
“Maybe she’s clairvoyant and she overheard this conversation before we had it. That would make her cry. And why do we waste our time with these dumb conversations anyway?”
“It sure beats talking about our own lives, doesn’t it?”
We laughed and agreed about something…finally.
(Oh, I forgot my passenger’s name in this article—it’s Steve.)