Western Walkabout: Grumpy?
Richard Harris is convinced that he’s not a grumpy man. And yet…
I used to think I was so laid back and reasonable until I pondered this topic – things that make you grumpy.
Me grumpy, never? That’s for old guys in stained sweat shirts, isn’t it?
Mind you, when I’m running in an event and am handed a cup of water at the drink stop by a person with wet hands not wearing rubber gloves, I’m not impressed. And when I’m going through a drink stop at a fast clip and miss out because the runner in front took two cups, that gets me uptight.
When I’m running cross country and the course isn’t adequately marshaled or signed and I get lost and have to go round again, I can be rude.
Animal lover that I am, when a huge dog comes running at me barking and showing wall to wall teeth, and the owner calls “He’s just being friendly, he won’t hurt you…” and when the dog has tangled in your legs, or nipped your heels, tripping you and is standing over you dripping saliva, and the owner says “He’s just playing. He likes runners”- I can think and say mean things.
In those cafes where the staff haven’t cleaned their machine properly and the coffee has a gritty taste, I’m prone to send it back.
When my bridge partner won’t bid game in No Trumps when it’s clearly there, leaving us in a Mickey Mouse contract – three of a minor suit – and we get bottom board, I hate that.
When a stick insect bites into my little pink climbing rose and I lose the flower, I hunt for it mercilessly.
And when my friend of many years brings his old dog into my house and it does tram lines along the carpet because its bum is itchy – and the owner doesn’t seem to give a care – my response is less than Christian.
Grumpy, me? Never. Am not good with idiots but.
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