I'm not crying--my eyes are tired. Really.

What a perfect Christmas card photo this would be: Rudolph-themed stuffed animals, ornaments from several generations decorating the tree, adorable cat nestled in the tree skirt… wait. The cat definitely has a look which says: “Back away from me now and I won’t sharpen my claws on your camera.” That look is why I’ve never tried to dress up my cats in adorable holiday-themed sweaters and hats. I prefer to keep my skin intact.

It will surprise no one that I’m not a “fluffy bunny sweetness and light” person. Yet at Christmas this strange hidden side of me appears, causing me to watch cute holiday cartoons. I have been known get all sniffly at certain holiday movies. I even sport a pair of reindeer antlers complete with lights.

Since I still have to function as a normal human, I’ll cut myself off before the sentiment incapacitates me. For instance, I haven’t watched It’s a Wonderful Life in about ten years, because I blubber like an idiot at the same scene every time. Every time! You know the one: Where George Bailey runs back onto the bridge after seeing how Mary’s life turned out. He starts praying “I want to live again” and it starts to snow, signaling us that everything’s back to normal. I could keep the Kleenex company in business on that movie alone.

I even used to cry at the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. We haven’t yet watched it this year, so I can’t say for sure I’ve become a hardened character regarding the moment the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.

So—tell me I’m not alone here! What holiday screenwriting is so brilliant that it makes you cry every time? What favorite book is so well written that you love it but won’t reread it unless you’re alone in the house and have a stack of tissues ready? I’ve listed my major two, and I’ll add the movie Scrooged. Guess which places. Yep. The scene where the adult Bill Murray sees his mother and the scene at the end where he asks Karen Allen to come back to him.

As for books: One of my “needs Kleenex” reads is Patricia Wentworth’s Nothing Venture. The other one is The Brother’s Keeper by Tracy Groot, at whose keyboard I grovel. I've memorized whole passages from these books without even trying. The former pushes all my "romantic gal" buttons. Trust me on the latter: My groveling is well deserved.

Okay, it’s your turn. I’ve got plenty of boxes of tissues ready. Let the blubbering begin!