"Can you imagine that happening?" said one table mate to another.
I butted in, "What's the matter now?"
"Oh, nothing. (Pause) Why do you say 'now'? I"m not always complaining."
Well, she is. But I am the pot, calling the kettle black. I complain as much as anybody. They put up with my idiosyncrasies, my obsessions. I have no right to complain about complaints.
I was dead wrong. There was nothing to say, so I rolled away. Any answer would have been argumentative. Better retreat now before the verbal blows start.
But I have an outlet. So I came to my journal to vent. Bless you folks, you are here to hear. Next to having a dog to talk to, a journal is "man's best friend".
Can I get you some more Kibble?