I may have mentioned that work is, shall we say, challenging these days. Nobody's fault, really. Well, that's not true, but the client (or their vendor, in this case) is always right, even if they've dragged their heels in getting us things we need to work with to meet their draconian deadline. But I digress.
Anyway, I've been stressed out at work, and I'm fighting off an early summer cold. Grr. Which, apparently, means I was ripe for a good cry. Flipping channels this afternoon, I got sucked into THE SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING PANTS. Sweet, implausible little movie (well, the pants thing was implausible--as if reed-thin Alexis Bledel and curvaceous America Ferrera could ever fit into the same pair of jeans), but it made me sob in places. I didn't think it would be my kind of movie, but I have to say I enjoyed it. Well, during the times I wasn't crying like a girl.
Then, as if I hadn't already cried enough for one day, I watched HOPE FLOATS, which kills me every time poor little Bernice sobs for her daddy not to leave her. Ack, the selfish SOB. But dang, that Harry Connick Jr. is a fetchin' young fella, ain't he?