I consider myself to be a pretty manly guy. I drink my whiskey straight, I enjoy the occasional cigar with my friends, and one of my all time favorite movies is Rudy. Now, having said all of this I’ll admit, even I sometimes have my vulnerable moments.
Now, the story which I’m about to get into, it actually took place several months ago. I know I could have posted it back then, but I’ll level with you – I needed this time to come to terms with what happened.
It must have been November or December of last year, I just remember it was cold out; Wifey and I were sitting on our couch one weekend afternoon not knowing what to do with ourselves. For those of you who have spent a considerable amount of time in the Northeast, you can appreciate that a winter in Boston is no time for leisurely outdoor activities. From October through March, we Boston residents just hunker down in our sweatpants, and make sure that we’re stocked up on blankets, DVD’s, and do our best to weather the storm.
Wifey and I finally figure out that since there’s no way either of us are getting out of our sweats, I guess the only thing to take up some time on this Saturday would be to rent a movie. We decide to rent “Marley & Me”.
“Marley & Me”, for those of you who don’t know, looks like it’s going to be one of those lame romantic comedies… you put Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson together, and then you throw in a Labrador retriever who pulls all kinds of shenanigans, and bing bang boom – you got yourself movie magic. For anyone who hasn’t seen the movie yet, you may want to stop reading here, although it doesn’t really take a rocket scientist to figure out how the movie ends. The dog ends up dying.
Now, I’m certainly no rocket scientist (although I do love rockets), and even I, a simpleton, knew going into this movie that the dog was going to die at the end. You would think that I’d be prepared for it. Nope.
I was WEEPING, and I don’t mean that I shed a tear when Owen Wilson said goodbye to his dog, I mean I was full on sobbing like a child. There were tears streaming down my face, I had snot running down my nose, I even had those barely audible soft sobs going on. It was bad. I looked like Brett Favre during one his retirement speeches, but worse! I was crying so hard that even Wifey (who was also crying) was taken aback.
Yeah, that’s right. I cried, and I cried good and hard. I’m not ashamed to say it. I’d like to see any grown man get through that movie without shedding a tear. I’ll even go so far as to say that if you can do it, I’ll be the first to buy you a beer. And then I’ll never speak to you again, cause you have to be one cruel, dog-hating son-of-a-bitch not to shed a tear during that movie.
So, after that ‘episode’ finally ended, I was left red-eyed and thinking to myself – did I really just cry that hard at a movie? But you know what? I’m starting to think that I’m OK with it. Look, just cause I cried at a movie, doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a man. I still enjoy football just as much, and still believe that shoulder bags should be reserved solely for women and Europeans – I just have a soft spot for dogs.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… Get this man a puppy!
- Jack Asher
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