I like to complain, a lot. So much, in fact, that if I got a euro for every time I ranted about something, I'd have enough money to go on a cruise, at least twice a year. Salty is my middle name, so if your food is ever lacking that sodium chloride...
More often than not, I identify myself with Abe (Grampa) from the Simpsons. I'm old, cranky, senile, and I'm always complaining, whether I have an audience for my woes or not. For example, when it comes to the weather, I'm kind of like this:
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Why? Because the weather is one variable son of a gun. It goes through puberty every day! Sometimes it can remain unchanged for days while others, unfortunately, it seems to change every few hours. Does that seem like something normal to you? No!
I look up at the sky and narrow my eyes; in a sea of baby-blue sits a solitary white cloud, with cartoonishly-round edges and an innocent look about it. "You won't fool me!" I yell, shaking my fist in the air. The cloud may seem cute, but I know that it's only putting up a façade to obscure its true motives. It's scouting the area, observing the ant-sized humans and their clothing—it's a warm sunny day, and everyone is either in t-shirts or light sweaters. As I continue staring at it, my eyes watering, I can tell that once again, the stupid humans have fallen into its ingenious trap. In a matter of hours, it will bring its grey companions, and with them, a strong wind and bullet-sized rain.
The weatherman had promised clear blue skies and a temperature of 23 degrees Celsius for today, but I'm sure he's just in conspiracy with the clouds. I can tell by the evil glint in his eye and his too-perfect-to-be-real smile. Many a time have a warned people about his falsehood—my family, my friends, my next-door neighbour's cat, but nobody pays me any heed. They call me silly, over-dramatic, crazy, even, laughing me out of the room whenever I even bring it up.
But they won't be laughing for long.
I'm wearing yellow goloshes, a waterproof jacket, and have my clear bubble umbrella hanging from my forearm. Following my example will get you strange looks, but it will all be worth it when the rain comes and—through the transparent material of your umbrella—you watch all the haters scurry around like cockroaches for cover, or get soaked.
Someone places a hand on my shoulder. I spin around, with the intention of teaching them a little lesson about personal space, when I realise that it's just you. How you always seem to find me, I wonder. It's starting to get a little creepy.
"Why are you wearing that?" You gesture towards my outfit with a hand, which I should break for being so disrespectful.
"Wearing what, my rain protection gear?" I jut my chin out with a challenge: tell me I look stupid. I dare you. I double dare you. You don't notice that my umbrella has slipped into my hand, ready for a beat-down.
"Yes, it's..." Your eyes fall to my whitening knuckles and you (intelligently) hold your tongue.
I loosen my death-grip on the umbrella. "Yes?" I ask, my tone as sweet as a double-glazed doughnut.
"Nothing, I—" We both hear a rumbling in the distance, a tell-tale sign that a storm is a-coming.
I don't even flinch at the sound—even though the change had come earlier than predicted— but you turn as pale as a sheet of paper.
"I...I have to go," you mumble, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your face. I reach into my pocket and pull out a frency fry—you stumble backwards, and after an incredulous shake of your head, run away.
I cackle, and pop it in my mouth.
It's appropriate to discuss the seasons in this section as well, because each season, in theory, has specific characteristics (in the Northern Hemisphere—the Southern Hemisphere is in a league of its own):
Winter: cold and snow.
Spring: warmth and light rain.
Summer: hot and sun.
Fall: pre-cold and heavy rain.
Simple enough, right? But because global warming is a thing and Mother nature is a rebel, here is what actually happens:
Winter: Pre-cold and rain or Siberia and Yeti infestation*.
Sping: hot and rain and cold and hot and sun and ???!
Summer: Satan's playground.
Fall: monsoons and ice-cubes.
*In some places they are an epidemic. Call 1-800-frozen to exterminate these gentle beasts.
For people who are susceptible to colds, like me, incredibly variable weather is a nightmare. It takes a single day of crazy weather (hot to cold or cold to hot) to have me coughing my lungs out and picking out a coffin for my funeral.
So how do we solve a problem we have created?
We don't. We stay indoors and rant about it.
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Is there something that you're itching to complain about, but have the good sense not to do so on a public forum? I can do it for you! Feel free to PM me with the topic you want me to rant about, and I won't think twice before adding it here. I'll be waiting!
