Say you're at a party, or a gathering of some kind; heck, let's throw the top off and say it's a gala. So, you're standing there, enjoying it but not enjoying it too much, can't give these bourgeoisie types the satisfaction of seeing you smile. The waiter comes by/girl/friend with a plate of hors d'oeuvres (by the way, if your friends aren't serving hors d'oeuvres at their functions or you just went over to play video games but, c'mon, you're kind of hungry, then get new friends!) and you look, tastefully though, you can't be seen as a glutton, downing the entire tray. Maybe you take one… okay, you've been doing well on your Atkins, five. You take five and you're standing there, casually, taking it all in, the scenery: huge chandeliers, tuxes or Kurt Cobain poster, lame framed picture from Wal-Mart or spraypaint on the walls, graffiti (what kind of party are you at?), and some random walks up to you and starts engaging you in a conversation.
Or, better yet, your friend is ragging on you in front of the ladies.
This is what you do:
- Take the heat he's giving you, and take it graciously because this poor fool has no idea what's in store for him.
- Right as he's laying it on real thick, cut him off, make sure it is abrupt—I can't stress this enough.
- And say, don't yell, "Remember that one time I walked in on you crying?"
Watch as he tries—in front of everyone—to collect the shattered remains that once was his pride.
He can't say, "Yeah, so?" because no man in the history of manness wants to admit, freely, to crying. It's just not done. I've never been hanging with my buds, knee deep in football talk when all of a sudden someone says, "So, I mean, lately just—lately I've just been feeling down, ya know? I've uh—I've been crying lately." Talk about finding new friends, guy. And you don't even serve hors d'oeuvres? Why am I even here?
No, but honestly. The beauty of this simple disarming statement of epic porportions is that you can't have a rebuttal right away. Sure, maybe the glass staircase effect: after you have dropped said bombshell on him he finds you a little later and says something witty to you. But that's the thing, it's way after the fact. No one cops to crying, ever. Dudes That Wear Ed Hardy would rather be sent to prison for something they didn't do than admit that somewhere, deep down, they have emotions. NO WAY. They would rather do a nickel upstate than tell someone they've let the waterworks flow from time to time. And that, dear readers, is the beauty of the crying game.