I am fighting not to become a cranky old man. You know, the guy grousing in the express line about slow cashiers. The guy arguing over the phone about a $2 increase in his bill. The one who takes up a whole park bench for no good reason. The relative you hate to invite.
My battle is compounded by the fact that I look like a cranky old man. I frown at nothing, mumble to myself, look away in disgust. I cross the street if I see teens coming. I yell at other drivers and make obscene gestures. If I'm on a bus, I hate waiting for other passengers to climb aboard.
I curse large parking lots and people who don't speak perfect English. I stare at myself in the mirror and force smiles. I try hard to chuckle to no avail. I have begun hunching over and lurching instead of striding. I believe no one and distrust everyone.
This is not how I want to spend my golden years. Just because I feel I've earned the right to grouse and spread bad vibes doesn't mean I should.
I vow not to growl, get furious, be demanding, put people in their place and offer unsolicited opinions. And I promise not to take it out on society if I have a difficult bowel movement.
God, smiling takes a lot out of me.
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