soft serve

i don't know when it happened, but it appears that i've become the world's biggest softie. i went with the divine miss n last night to catch tim burton's latest flick, big fish. and i spent no less than half of it on the verge of huge, choking sobs, overwhelmed by the tenderness of the film. this is just the latest manifestation of a rather alarming trend i've been observing in myself, in which the slightest thing -- sad movies, emotionally overwrought music, long distance telephone service commercials -- causes my eyes to well up and my jaw to stick in my throat.
how, i ask you, did this happen?
what happened to the glorious cynicism of my youth? when did i become such a soft touch? what does this mean for the future? am i going to hit a point where small children and puppies cause me to cry? am i going to start  collecting those 'precious moments' monstrosities, suddenly finding myself susceptible to their questionable charms? it doesn't bear thinking about.
meanwhile, i don't think i'll rest easy until once again i can once again aim a rounding cackle at the touching and sweet. alas.