Being a curmudgeon is cute.

You may ask, especially after yesterday's missive, why someone so lovable as myself might actually wish to become a curmudgeon.

Go ahead. Ask. I'm waiting, so long as a curmudgeon may deign to ask.

Deign. What a delightfully curmudgeonly word. I deign to ask that. I deign thou to deny me my right to ask that.

You do not. Ask, that it is. Nor deny me my right to respond. Yet I shall answer. I shall deign (ha, ha, ha) to answer your unasked address.

It is because I am increasingly aged. That, by itself, allows me to ask questions ordinarily dismissed as impertinent. I am increasingly older. Therefore, I am increasingly curmudgeonly. All will love me and despair!

You see, curmudgeons are loved because they are curmudgeons. They are too old to be held accountable, let alone responsible. They ask all the questions no one else will ask because they will be seen as impertinent. The old curmudgeons will be seen as cute. You. Lose.

That's why I want to be a curmudgeon. I'm ahead of the curve.