一个男孩问他的妈妈：“你为什么要哭呢？”
妈妈说：“因为我是女人啊。”
男孩说：“我不懂。”
他妈妈抱起他说：“你永远不会懂的。
后来小男孩就问他爸爸：“妈妈为什么无缘无故地哭呢？”
他爸爸只能说：“所有女人都这样”。
小男孩长大了，成为一个男人，但他仍就不懂女人为什么哭泣。
最后，他打电话给上帝；在上帝拿起电话时，他问道：“上帝，女人为什么那么容易哭泣呢？”
上帝回答说：“当我创造女人时，就让她很特别。我让她的肩膀能挑起整个世界，同时却柔情似水能给人安慰。
“我让她的内心很坚强，能够承受分娩的痛苦，并能多次忍受来自自己孩子的拒绝。”
“我赋予她耐心使她能在别人选择放弃的时候继续坚持着，并且无怨无悔的照顾自己的家人度过疾病与疲劳。
“我赋予她在任何情况下都会爱孩子的感情，即使她的孩子伤害了她。”
“我赋予她包容她丈夫过错的坚强，并用他的肋骨塑成她来保护他的心。”
“我赋予她智慧让她知道一个好丈夫是绝不会伤害他的妻子的，但有时我也会考验她支持自已丈夫的坚持与决心。
“最后，我让她可以流泪。只要她愿意，任何时候都可以哭泣，这是她所独有的。”
“你看，女人的漂亮不是因为她穿的衣服，她的体型或者她的发型。”
“女人的美丽只能在她的眼睛里，因为那是她心灵的窗口，爱居住的地方。”
A Little Part of My Time
When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed. There were pieces of me all over the tidy， tan tiles. He kept talking， telling me why he was leaving， explaining it was for the best， I could do better， it was his fault and not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still not immune； perhaps one did not become immune to such felony.
He left and I tried to get on with my life. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil， I took out my old red mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule slipped in to the bone china. That was what my life had been like， endless omissions of coffee granules， somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.
Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing warning I pretended not to hear it. That’s what Mike’s leaving had been like， sudden and with an awful finality. I would rather just wallow in uncertainty than have things finished. I laughed at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical and sentimental about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
And yet it was a young woman who stared back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope， a young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important things. More important than love， I insist to myself firmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
He doesn‘t haunt my dreams as I feared that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods， looking down on those below me. Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter， brought down by the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I realize later， with some degree of understanding， that Mike was the hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next night my dream is similar to the previous nights， but without the hunter. I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out there for me， there is another person， not necessarily a lover perhaps just a friend， but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued myself back together， what Mike has is merely a little part of my time in earth， a little understanding of my physical being. He has only， a little piece of me.
