Before you start sending me referrals to anger management classes, let me assure you that this is not about deep, soul-searing hatred. Certainly I’ve disliked a few people throughout my life, as we all have, but not to the point of committing any sort of mayhem. No, I’m just thinking about the little things in life — annoyances, really — that catch you in the wrong mood one day so that you unwittingly emit a low, throaty “Grrrrr,” or just blurt out “Oh, I hate that!” Things like . . . oh, say . . .

Circular voice mail: Probably No. 1 on nearly everyone’s hate list, right? Not all phone systems are evil, and they do serve a useful purpose. But when the options don’t include one for your particular need, and you keep pushing “0” or yelling “Operator” and “Representative,” all to no avail — well, that’s when you really wish you could reach out and touch someone . . . hard. Very, very hard.

Manicures. I’ve never had a professional manicure. (And I would never, ever have something called a “mani-pedi,” simply because I think it’s a stupid name.) But why not the manicure? Because I don’t like the way most manicurists shape nails these days, and they’re not very good at deviating from the current trend. I like my nails oval, not straight across with corners. I hate those corners. And I hate cuticles, because they have to be pushed back and sometimes it hurts. And nail polish just chips after a day or two, so it’s a total waste of time and money anyway. I’d rather spend it on a nice chai latte and a cranberry scone at that very expensive coffee shop. At least that will stay with you for a while . . . though unfortunately on your hips.

Compound Names. You know the ones I mean: the famous couples who are given nicknames that will forever link them to each other, long after the romance has ended. Think about Bennifer, Speidi, Kimye, Brangelina and Tomkat, to name just a few. (OMG, spellcheck actually recognizes Kimye!) And there are the people who mix together their own first and last names, like J-Lo and A-Rod and K-Fed. Didn’t their parents give them perfectly good names? What’s wrong with Jennifer, or Alex, or Kevin? Although I do have a good one for Elon Musk, whose first name isn’t all that great anyway. How about “E-Mu”? Unless, of course, that insurance company’s big feathered mascot has any objection.

Online Scrabble. I like it, actually; I play regularly with three people (one of whom I even know). But when it won’t recognize a word that Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary confirms is a real word, or when it will accept some proper names but not others . . . well, then, it becomes the enemy because you can’t freakin’ argue with the computer. Grrrrr!

Auto-correct. Don’t tell me what I meant to say! I hate it when you do that!

Bad grammar. If you’ve been reading me for a while, you’ve probably figured out that I am really, really compulsive about English: the grammar, spelling, sentence structure, the whole nine yards. Not that I expect people to obsess over every word they speak; a little bit of slang and a few regional expressions add pizzazz and personality to a conversation. And who really cares about split infinitives any more? But the written word . . . ah, that is something else entirely. And the absolutely worst offenders, in my view, are the writers and reporters who bring us the daily news. These are supposedly educated, intelligent people; but if they can’t tell an adverb from an adjective, or a possessive from a plural . . . well, then, they need to go back to school or start looking for a different job. Or maybe just hire a proofreader who knows what they’re doing. (I am available, by the way, but I’m very expensive and only work from home.)

Pop-up tissues that don’t pop up. Digging down into the box to try to grab a single tissue when you feel a huge sneeze coming on . . . nobody likes that.

Emails. All the ones that are just trying to sell you something you will never want or need. And especially the ones that start out offering you “Congratulations!” But at least those are easy to deal with: Delete.

Misrepresented foods. Have you ever paid $6 or $7 for a small pre-made salad that looks delicious until you get it home and find that all the good stuff — the meat, cheese, hard-boiled egg, whatever — is in a thin layer on top, and the other 90% is wilted lettuce? Did you not want to go back to the store and throw the remains at the produce guy? The same goes for that cute container of cubed cantaloupe that was just the ticket for tonight’s low-cal snack — except that the clown who prepared it couldn’t tell a ripe melon from an unripe one if you jammed his face down into it . . . Oh, sorry. Maybe there is a bit of an anger issue here after all.

And finally . . .

Online ads. Not just any ads, but the same ones, over and over and over and over . . . especially the ones for stupid computer games, like that obnoxious little emperor who keeps finding himself in life-threatening situations. I really hate that one! Sometimes I want to play it just so I can let him DIE.

Oh, dear . . . I seem to be getting a little worked up here, don’t I? Anyone got the name of that anger management group handy?

(Deep breaths.)

I’m okay now, thanks. See you tomorrow.

Brendochka
9/15/23