Leaving the pity party

On Tuesday night, I fell apart.

I walked in the door and set down my purse, barely able to mumble a hello to my husband who was patiently feeding our teething and temperamental baby his dinner.

I had been at The Yacht Club, having a beer with some co workers as a farewell to my boss. My beloved boss. The nicest, most supportive, funniest, sweetest boss on the face of the entire planet.

I left the party early because I found myself sitting there with my mouth twisted into a grimace, trying to talk with the others about my boss's new job, where he'd live, and what our office plans to do in his absence - all the while feeling like I might have to make a mad dash to the bathroom.

When I got home, I laid on the couch and a few tears escaped. What was this? Was I crying for my boss? Seemed unlike me. I like him a lot, will miss him, but really? This overwrought show of emotion? A little overly dramatic for my taste.