Getting a grip on griping
My aim today is to bitch and kvetch.
Like females dissing low wages while flashing manicured fingernails that extend from Forest Hills to Atlantic City.
Like long, double-length buses which extend longer than the World Trade Center yet idle away at the curb empty.
Bread when you sit at a restaurant? Now you need to bring it with you.
Doctor’s appointment? Lotsa luck. The nurse will give you a seven-minute visit in six months — providing you’re still alive.
An appointment at the famous 42nd & Lex Chrysler Building? Even with an office upstairs you need to stop at the concierge’s desk, take a photo, present ID, sign your name, explain why you’re there, tell him to go screw himself — then run for an elevator.
Your favorite sweater developed a moth hole.
Your second favorite sweater’s matching skirt the cleaner lost.
The shoe repair guy closed his shop.
Your best friend’s suddenly no longer your best friend.
Arguing with your co-worker, fighting with the IRS, screaming at your husband, disowning your brother-in-law, not paying your rent.
The dental bridge holding your four front teeth takes six months to remake.
School closest to you won’t take your kid.
Can’t find your glasses, can’t find your phone, can’t find your hearing aid.
Airplane with your prepaid Paris tickets just canceled its trans-Atlantic flights.
Your computer developed a hiccup.
Your housekeeper quit.
Your husband split.
Hire Hunter — then hide your silverware.
Longtime plumber’s doing it with your short-time babysitter.
Rent’s gone up, jobs gone down.
A rat the size of your Chevy just ran through the kitchen.
We all — all — ALL — want to shove Meghan Markle up red-haired Harry.
You lost an earring.
You found another single earring that belongs to nothing.
The house is out of Kleenex.
The store is out of Kleenex.
Your nose is out of Kleenex.
After an illegal left turn the cops are now checking you.
Ugh! Bragg’s going to run (walk? limp?) for DA again!
Memorize Kamala’s last speech.
The IRS claims you owe them for eight years of back taxes.
Your cat doesn’t like you or your dog.
Bills are piling up. Your behind is also piling up.
Plus: You now live in the city where P. Diddy’s most popular neighborhood bumper sticker says: “Reminder: Do not forget to hug your bail bondsman today.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.