I don’t remember much about my grandma, but I do remember that when I’d cry, she’d run off to kitchen and get a shot glass to collect my tears. It was a tiny glass and I never saw her use it for anything else, but she’d place it on my cheek, determined to see if I could fill It up to the line. I never made it to the line, not even close. Instead I’d get distracted from crying by collecting tears. I guess she knew that whatever I’d been crying about must not have been that big of deal and I just needed a change of focus. I still use this tactic today, but backwards. I drink shots until I stop thinking enough to cry.
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