Cracks in the armor

Signs your tough-as-nails, cast-iron bitch, stoic get shit done persona is taking a GIANT hit to a mushy, hormone laden pregnant chic:
You get emotional over the results of a dance competition.
Not only the results, but a few of the dances themselves.

Yes.
You read that correctly.
Of course this means, that I have to fess up to being an avid So You Think You Can Dance viewer.
I love it. What can I say. It's entertaining. Its skills (or skillz - depending on the routine) that I will never have -- and in the bleak and waterless desert that is summer TV, it is a beautiful oasis of entertainment.
Last night was the finale -- and I was pleased with the outcome. But during the show, I caught myself getting a little teary eyed over the departure of one of the contestants and a few of the dances.

The alternate theory is that I am so in tuned to the artistic process and have such a innate appreciation for great art that it moved me into an emotional zone as it was intended.
I think it was hormones.

Hormones which will be further pleased today by the fact that it is food day at the office. Which roughly translates to "slow grazing all day long on really bad food".
Yes. It started with a donut. Have a plan for the coffee cake mid-morning break and then all rules are out the door as the crock pots start warming up and the assorted dips make their lunchtime appearance.
Ah, corporate food day.
A thing of gluttonous glory.

Now Listening: Till the Sun Turns Black by Ray LaMontagne