I have always had the ability to cry on demand. Not just tear-up, or sob: no. I can weep. Bawl. To the point of being unable to breathe evenly. And no...one, not even my father, can tell whether or not I’m faking. I have always been a very, very convincing crier. And it has gotten me out of more trouble than I can tell you. You know the argument about nature versus nurture? My crying is all nature: I was born with it. My dad didn’t see any of this coming and he didn’t react quickly enough to. ”“That’s the problem,” she downed her sherry, “I can’t say that if I was young and pretty I wouldn’t chase after a young doctor or lawyer if I had the chance and not worry about whether he was involved with someone. So, as hurt and disappointed as I was, I still can’t hate them.”“No, I can’t say I hate my ex either. But if it’s any consolation, being married to a prom queen isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, the good doctor may be regretting his choice.”Suddenly he couldn’t suppress a slight. More

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