I am a crier. I cry easily, and not always from sadness. I can cry from anger, frustration, tiredness, and, of course, happiness, though those tears always seem to have a different quality, being lighter and more fleeting. It is annoying to me, the frequency with which I cry. Valentine’s Day Lingerie Not because I am ashamed or because I see it as a weakness, but because it is inconvenient. Often it’s a release, nothing more. I am not sentimental about my propensity for sentimentality.
Perhaps that is why I was unmoved by former PM spokesperson Allegra Stratton’s tearful apology outside her house on Wednesday, regarding the footage that emerged of her and other No 10 colleagues joking about the Christmas party they held while the rest of the country was legally forbidden from seeing their relatives, some of whom were dying of coronavirus. Latex Lingerie Tears do not, for me, confer special treatment. Every woman knows that they can constitute a “get out of jail free” card, especially in the eyes of some men, especially upper class ones. “Now that’s an apology,” people said, satisfied that a public display of emotion was a sufficient level of remorse. “You’ve got to feel sorry for her, haven’t you?” said others.
Well, no. There is a historic tendency, remarkable in Victorian novels and their adaptations, for a women’s tears to shut down the objections of all those around her. The tears are a kind of coda. A line is drawn: fin. Whether because they make some men uncomfortable (“For God’s sake, someone stop that woman from crying”) or provoke a protective instinct (“Fetch a handkerchief and some smelling salts!”) these ideas are predicated on the notion of women being the more delicate, vulnerable sex, and they don’t really belong in this century.Vinyl Lingerie Her tears don’t wash, in other words.