capacitive dual simwind falls out of my sails

wind falls out of my sails and stays at the door, like your dorky buddy on his first visit to your place. My ole lady's here. Bawling. I stand quiet, as if she'll ignore me. She doesn't though, and this is where her routine gets quite transparent, actually, because she clears her throat, loudly, then uses that energy to launch into a bigger, better bawl. It breaks my fucken heart. Mostly because she has to resort to these transparent kind of moves to get attention.
'What's up, Ma?'capacitive dual sim
'Shnff, squss …'
'Ma, what's up?'
She takes hold of my hands, and looks up into my eyes like a calendar kitten after a fucken tractor accident, all crinkly, with spit between her lips. 'Oh, Vernon, baby, oh God . . .'
A familiar drenching feeling comes over me, like when the potential exists for serious tragedy.