Grumpy

When I was mid teen angst, the worst thing I could imagine was that one day I would turn into my parents. They were annoying. They were finicky. They were so incessant with their interest in my life. Ergh, get a life you weirdos.

But then as I grew older, became more mature and basically stopped listening to depressing music whilst curled up into a ball in a dark room, I discovered that my parents are pretty awesome people. And that if I did turn into my Dad, I’d end up being a pretty awesome human being. Built with strong foundations of care and respect and consideration for others, personal sacrifice to put my family first and doing most of it with a smile on my face, often telling horrendous jokes and drinking other people’s alcohol.

However, with the good doth come the bad. And most of the bad are the kinds of things I’ve noticed evolving within not only my own psyche, but those of my friends as well. Life is becoming a little bit too hard nowadays. Kids are rude and disrespectful. Music is lame and loud with too many robotic sounds and not enough soul and originality. Lines at the shops are longer and slower to disperse. Going out on the town fills me with a fear of forced social interaction and an insight into tomorrow’s ferocious hangover. Not to mention how expensive everything is these days. I actually remember using copper coins as a kid! Honest to God, one and two cent pieces! It was like a different world.

But something that I find impossible to subscribe to in this evolution into old age (I’ll be 29 next birthday, Jesus!) is grumpiness. Getting the hump (which doesn’t sound nearly as fun as it should). Tanty pants. Cracking the shits. You know what I’m talking about… It just makes no sense to me. It seems like such a waste of energy.

I’m no philosopher, but I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to get lost on holiday. We’re not supposed to find a car park at the shops. Flat pack furniture is supposed to be ridiculously harder to put together than it seems. It’s just life, kids. Get over it. Crack a smile and a beer and just get on with it.

For how great a bloke my Dad is, it’s getting to the point now where you can’t actually ask him to do anything. When I was a kid, he had something we called a ‘thermo threshold’ of about four minutes. Basically, if a task took any longer than the allotted four minutes, he’d spit chips. He’d puff and pant and slam things and shake ‘em and get an almighty glare going, it really was quite the spectacle. But these days, just the mere fact that something needs doing tips him over the edge. He’s getting his rage on before he’s even out of the chair. How dare the grass need mowing or the gall of the car to need petrol. I simply cannot understand why everything seems so difficult.

The world is all about hard graft and delicious reward, surely drying the dishes and changing a light bulb are the kinds of jobs you should want, it can’t get much easier than that, can it?

But maybe I’m going to learn a pretty humbling lesson in the next twenty years. Maybe I’ll find myself sat in this chair, needing to write another blog (which will obviously shit me to tears) and just flip my lid at the prospect of being put out for ten whole minutes. After all, I’m built by the same traits that I once found irritating in my parents, it’s probably inevitable and I should just not waste the energy in fighting it. I guess fifty odd years of life just makes you knackered, who knows?

I guess I can accept inheriting the worst of some pretty amazing people. But if I fall asleep on the couch from 7pm snoring my arse off then refuse to go to bed, you all have my written consent to hold a nice fluffy pillow over my face. Cos everyone should be able to hear the TV, especially you future children of mine.

Clayton (RRH)

One Response to Grumpy

  1. BrettT says:

    My parents aren’t that grumpy but they do get pissed at pretty normal stuff that normal people take as the average thing that happens or needs to happen in order for society to keep moving. Like the council cutting the grass on the median strip (too messy) or the postman coming at different times every day (they’ve got a lot of mail to deliver) and the police never being where crime is happening (criminals can be pretty smart and might be planning to do crime when the police aren’t going to be there). hopefully I’ll be normal when I’m sixty or seventy though.

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