I never want to become one of those cranky, old people who have no patience and find fault with everything and everybody. I am a big fan of the saying live and let live. As part of the over-50 population, I try to be an example to my age group and not be judgmental, especially of the young. I pride myself in being a free spirit with a positive outlook and a kind heart. Despite my zeal for being completely fair and open-minded, I must admit that I have my limits. Some things in life are just WRONG. As hard as I try to reconcile certain situations and try to see the other side, there are a group of subjects that have no explanation or reason for being and, to me, are just stupid. I suppose you could call these things my pet peeves, but that term is a bit strong for my taste. I prefer to think of myself as being a bit peevish.
Because I am a firm believer in getting things off of my DD chest, I thought if I shared these particular annoyances with you I might be able to move on. Maybe it’s just me. I know my loyal readers will let me know. Venting is good for the soul. So here goes...
Let’s start with Donald Trump’s hair. Here is a seriously successful, high-profile man, yet his hair-do defies both reason and gravity. His hair is often spoken of as the ultimate comb-over. I have no idea how he accomplishes this coiffure because I can’t even tell how much hair he actually has. I’m not sure if it’s just one long piece twirled around or knitted together like an afghan, but I do suspect that it takes an entire staff to create the dips and swoops and peaks that I have seen previously only coming out of a soft serve ice cream machine. I have tried to figure Mr. Trump's hair out for years, to no avail. He lacquers it so a hurricane couldn’t move it and you can’t really see where it starts and where it ends. I don’t think his tresses would disturb me so much if I saw other men copying The Donald’s 'do. You’d think a man as smart as he is would wonder why his hairstyle hasn’t caught on. I know why... it’s just WRONG.
I am not ganging up on men, but I did want to mention that I find bald men with ponytails a bit irritating. (Incidentally, one of my readers called me sexist last week when I was saying how amazing it is that most men can barbeque on a grill, yet they can barely heat up a Pop Tart in the kitchen. I stuck to my guns. Yes, there are lots of men who can cook, but there are millions of women who cook dinner every night for a family and hold down a job, too.) Ok, back to the bald guys with ponytails. Fellows, I understand that losing the hair of your youth is not a happy thing, but taking the remaining seven strands, growing them long, and pulling them back into a wimpy ponytail is not sexy. Totally bald is much sexier.
No pun intended, but now let’s next jump right into dog poop, or the subject of, more exactly. I am a dog lover, but I am a hater of people who don’t clean up after their dogs. When I am out for a walk and see someone with a dog and no visible plastic bag in their hands or tied to the leash, I follow them like a stalker. I live in a gated community and most everyone has a dog. I clean up after my two babies and would never think to leave a mess. When I suspect that someone is letting their dog poop willy-nilly on the common area grass, I watch them and call them on it when I see a mess that I know their dog made. It’s amazing how these people are never guilty and even more amazing how many dog owners can distinguish their dog's pooping style and deny that their animal was responsible even if I watched it happen. Wrong... so wrong.
No rant would ever be complete without talking about my sister. I am not beneath being a bit annoying myself, according to her. I am her pet peeve. I hate to drive, and because she loves me, she will often offer to drive my car when we are going somewhere. She is taller than I am and every time she gets into the driver’s seat of my car, as soon as she plops her butt in the space that fit my body and legs perfectly, she goes nuts. In mock pain, she pulls her knees up to her chin and squishes her arms together to illustrate that it would have been nice if I had adjusted the seat since she agreed to drive. As she exaggerates her compressed state, she searches frenetically for the levers to release her from her agony, all the time rudely reminding me that I am short. She makes a huge deal of all this until she has released herself from the confines of the seat that was adjusted for me. Trust me... Houdini’s Suspended Straight Jacket Escape was done with less drama. I tell you this story only because I must be fair. I am not just the peevee, sometimes I am the peevor. My sister thinks this whole scenario should never happen and that I am WRONG. Could be...
I would now like to call your attention to my angst over children who are allowed to fuss and cry in restaurants. Many young parents never think to take these wailing kids outside as not to impede the dining enjoyment of others. This is WRONG beyond words. I never did it to others with six kids. The minute I heard a peep out of one of my young ones, I grabbed them, with my hand over their mouth, and ran to a place where they couldn’t be heard until they calmed down. A lot of parents don’t find it necessary to do this nowadays. If I am sitting close enough to these offenders to bother my party, I give the mother and father the Stare of Death until they do something. Sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t. If they let their kids continue to shriek, I just smile inside... they will pay later when those children, who are being allowed to act up with no consequences, get older. Those parents will wonder what went wrong in 15 years when their teenagers are out of control. By the way, I am thinking of teaching the mother’s Stare of Death to these new parents. It used to be passed down from mother to daughter. My mother could give me one look and I knew my life was over as I knew it. What has happened with this world? Wrong... just wrong.
We can touch briefly on the morons who leave their Christmas lights up all year. No one has a harder time of letting go of the Yuletide season than I do, but it makes the whole neighborhood look shabby by not taking down your lights. It's just WRONG. If you had the strength to put them up, then take them down. Enough said. I feel better.
Okay, here comes a biggie. Why do women with nasty feet insist on wearing sandals? I cannot stand to see a woman with ugly feet wearing strappy open-toed shoes. There are two categories of ugly feet, by the way. First, there are the unkempt and un-pedicured feet. There is no excuse for this. Pedicures are very affordable or you can just do it yourself. Don’t put feet with cracked heels and chipped polish in pretty sandals. Not attractive and very unsexy. And then there are women who just have wicked-ugly feet. No amount of maintenance will help. If your toes cross over one another, are oddly configured or are longer than a chimpanzees, no one needs to see that. It is so odd to me that a woman will go to great lengths to cover the bad parts of her body and shy away from clothing that doesn’t flatter, yet she will not think twice about showing off her gnarly feet. Listen, if you had huge thighs and a fat gut, would you wear hot pants and a crop top? I know, I know. I’ve seen Jerry Springer, too. But, you get my point.
So, what are you peevish about? I can’t be the only one who gets annoyed. Write to me, my darlings. I want to know what irritates the crap out of you. Let’s dish!
