I was at a party and I was drinking champagne and weeping. I wasn't sad about anything. It's just what happens to me when I drink champagne. I weep. It's like how when I'm around my mother I have a habit of saying 'Bite me, Mom' under my breath. It's just one of those things I can't control.
Anyway, so there I was, crying and drinking champagne. I knew that I would stop crying if I stopped drinking, but I love champagne and I wanted to drink more of it. So, I was in a bit of a pickle.
It's not that crying bothers me. In fact, I think most of the woes of the world would be solved if we all sat down together and had ourselves a good cry. So, the problem wasn't that I was crying, rather it was that I was crying in public. And when you cry in public, you always attract the wrong type of woman.
I had just finished my third glass of champagne and was weeping uncontrollably as I headed to the kitchen to refill my glass. As I was sloshing champagne into the glass I felt a tender hand on my shoulder.
'What's wrong?' a voice dripping with concern asked. I turned around and saw a fetching woman standing before me, her eyes huge with empathy.
'Nothing,' I sobbed. 'Just drank too much champagne.'
'No, really, you can tell me. What's wrong?' she asked again. I sighed. Why doesn't anyone ever believe that it's just the champagne?
This woman was a complete stranger, and yet I knew everything about her. She was the type of person who wouldn't have anything to do with me if I wasn't crying. She was the type of person who was attracted to me only because she thought I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She was the type of person who thought that I would confide my troubles to her—a complete stranger. She was the type of person who believed she could save me.
The only problem was that I don't need to be saved. Really, I'm not kidding. About ten years ago I needed to be saved, but now I'm perfectly fine. I'm a happy girl. I only cry when I drink champagne or when I read heartwarming stories about animals. I don't even have road rage.
But this woman didn't know that. This woman saw me crying in public and thought I was a mess. She wanted to take me home with her and make everything better.
I took a thoughtful sip of champagne and considered my options. The sensible thing to do was to pat the woman on her pretty, blonde co-dependent head and walk away. But pretty, blonde heads are right up my alley. So I decided that the even more sensible thing to do was to lie.
'Boo hoo hoo,' I sobbed into my glass. 'You saw right through me. You're right—it's not the champagne. It's that my mother never loved me.'
'Oh, you poor thing,' she said, wrapping her arm around me tightly and escorting me out of the party. 'Don't worry. I'll fix everything.' And, for one night, she did.