I'm Becoming a Curmudgeon: Part Seven in an Everlasting Series

I like to complain about the cold; it isn't supposed to be this cold this early in October. Yet that also gives me the chance to complain about something else: turning on the furnace. It costs so much to heat the house that we ought to conserve and just dress warmer instead of ratcheting up the thermostat. It is in those examples why I find curmudgeonly behavior so much fun. You can complain about anything and everything.

Today's music is just noise merely because it isn't the music I like. Country isn't like it was back in the day, neither is rock, and why don't they play the big bands anymore? Today's styles are an affront to the eye: you should dress like in the good old days. Which never existed, of course, and that's all part of what's wrong with the world too.

The bed is too hard or too soft...the sun is to bright or it's too cloudy outside...work is too slow until it's too busy...I could go on and on. And while it irritates folks to listen to me they remember me. You know him; he's the guy that complains about everything.

So you see, there's a reason for this, a method to my madness. It is by becoming a curmudgeon that I become immortal. So don't think I'm just a crank.

Or on second thought, go ahead and do that. Then I shall have your poor and inconsiderate attitude to crab about too.