Caffeine and Cupcakes: Hand Me the Kleenex

As I wept through two hours of The Biggest Loser last night (they are so inspirational, so truthfully, I was weeping and doing push-ups simultaneously), it struck me that I've become a total sap. I've always been a crier, but I don't recall ever being this ridiculous before. I can't really put my finger on when it started; I think I've just gotten more emotional as I've gotten older.

I will cry at pretty much any movie, especially if it involves young lovers separated by war, destitute children, the elderly, or all of the above. But the one movie that REALLY gets the waterworks going is also arguably the worst movie ever made: P.S. I Love You.

The first time I saw the preview for the film, I immediately burst into tears and made Matt promise that he would never die. He agreed not to die, but refused to see the movie with me. So when it came out, one of my besties and I loaded our purses with tissue and headed off to the movies. I think we were the only ones in the theater, and we were both sobbing within two minutes of the opening credits.

I think it's the unique combination of an Irish accent, a brain tumor, and letters from beyond the grave that hits me so hard. Oh who am I kidding, it's mostly just the Irish accent. If this movie had been about an American guy who wrote letters to his wife before he died, it would have been utter shit. An Irish accent can cover a multitude of sins. Gerard Butler in a wifebeater doesn't hurt either.