Complaining

Do you ever feel like complaining when technically you have no right to complain? I'm sitting here with all my limbs in working order in my sturdy house with its newly painted living room in my historic town with its good public schools while the sun is shining on a fine autumn day and I feel whiny and fat and irritable.

At 4:00 p.m., my fabulous husband took our healthy twin boys to an honest-to-God Boeing flight simulator where a friend of ours teaches pilots how to fly airplanes. But my house is still filled with the bickering of small boys because the neighbor boys are here and they are poor sports and big whiners. Kind of like me.

There is really only one cure for this attitude problem of mine. I must go straighten up the living room, tidy up the kitchen, pick up all these toys in the family room, fold a load of laundry, change the kitty litter and snort some cocaine.

Okay, only kidding about that last part.

Methamphetamines are really the way to go.

Okay, joking again. I'd better get busy so when my husband returns, he'll think I'm a better housekeeper than I really am.