When I was a young’un, my parents started riding my ass to play sports, and I was sure they meant severe ones like football.

Coming back from a beach trip, I was told, “you need to pick a sport, or we’re going to pick one for you.” Upon hearing that, I looked at the car-door handle and wondered how much it would hurt to fling myself out onto the highway.

I started to think of “sports” that I might could handle: croquet, slingshot (lol), bowling.

I decided to ignore it, and it went away. I was able to finish out the summer attempting Jell-O desserts from magazine recipes. “If the temperatures are right, maybe I can get this layer of fruit to float in between these layers of Jell-O, then I can put on the whipped cream!”

I was trapped in a medical waiting room with a TV this morning. I knew it would be good.

This woman wept three times, really wept, because her cupcake bakery was losing money, and the business consultant she hired to help very politely mentioned a few things that were wrong.

The Baker Wept! Gospel of Bakeries, chapter 11, verse 35.

WOT (weeping on television) has been a national passtime for ages. I might even do it myself given the chance.

I would, however, prefer to weep, really weep, over winning the lottery.

We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way