I suppose it’s silly really. I thought I was done with all this crying malarkey, but I guess it wasn’t done with me.

It’s quite simple too.

But first a little backstory…

My mother always used to say “oh I’ve just been cutting onions” when she cried. I didn’t believe her, not one bit.

But now I think it’s true.

Here I was, making spag bol for two (not two people mind, two meals. One today, one tomorrow), and I’m cutting this onion.

Tears well up in my eyes.

An unsavoury, unwanted, forgotten prickling as they made themselves known, as they ran down my face, making it itch horribly, as they crawled down my jawline, tickling unpleasantly, as they slid off and soared toward my shirt in free fall.

Horrible.