That Time I Almost Bawled My Eyes Out At the Nail Salon (Or, Why I Shouldn't Be Allowed In Public During Cycles)

I was going to write about the first few days of Lupron, but it'll have to wait a bit.

Background: I'm not a crier; I'd say I cry maybe four times a year, give or take. When I do cry though, it comes out like Niagara Falls because of all of the stuff I've been holding in since my last cry. This can be a blessing and a curse - great that I never had to worry about being labeled "crybaby" in school or "unstable" in the work place, or worse, "emotional" or "PMSing" by every dumbass male who sees a female cry more than once. Not so great when I want to make my husband feel guilty or when I don't want to look like an Asperger's case at a funeral. The largest consequence of my inability to cry is the above mentioned: waterworks central at inopportune times. 

Scene: Local nail salon. Went to get a pedi and it was fan-fucking-tastic. I just started feeling a little anxiety this morning and the massage chair and those little hands massaging my feet and legs were just what I needed. Perhaps it was because I was so blissed out that what happened next did unfold.

To dry, I was sat at the station next to a woman of about 50 and across from another who looked to be at least 70. We ended up chatting, which I usually tend not to do with strangers*, and the conversation somehow turned to children - as it often does between women. The 50 something started talking about her own son and I just started panicking about the inevitable "do you have any children?" that I knew was coming my way. Normally I will answer with a quick, "not yet" but today I just knew it wasn't going to come out that way. As the two older women continued to talk, I fought back tears as I pretended to listen and continued to fret over what I would say when the words "not yet" came out of my mouth, because I just knew that I would not be able to hold those tears back any more once I opened my mouth. 

I never in my life have fought tears back so hard. I've tried to force out, sure, but the idea of losing it in the middle of this bustling salon and the embarrassment of having to explain my struggles to strangers killed me inside. Somehow I believe the eldest woman saw something in my face, or perhaps she just tired of the talk, because she changed the subject and we soon were off on separate ways. Whatever it was that kept me from looking like an emotional, unstable, crybaby, PMSing mess in the middle nail salon, I am thankful yet weary of my ability to continue to keep it together during this journey. 

*This is the reason why I tend to stick to myself