Slices of Life...Things I hate
I tell my kids not to hate things. You can dislike Brussels sprouts, but there's no need to hate them, not really.
The word “hate” itself has become a buzzword for political incorrectness. No one wants to be accused of being a hater.
As a parent, I should follow my own advice — lead by example and be a good role model. Still, there are things worthy of my strong, strong dislike — and maybe even the “H” word. There, I said it. There are some things I hate. (Don’t tell my kids.)
For instance, I hate those website pop-up pages that make you click on the “Leave page?” button even though you never even clicked on the page in the first place.
I hate the caps on concentrated laundry detergent that are big enough to hold 10 times the liquid needed for a load, with a fill-to-here line inside the cap that is nearly invisible. If you are doing the laundry, doesn’t it seem reasonable to fill the cap to the rim? If you do, you are literally pouring money down the drain.
I hate it when I go to the grocery store with a coupon and then forget to use it.
I hate that low-rise jeans are in style and that the term, “mom jeans” was ever invented.
I hate telemarketers who call even though my number is listed with the Do Not Call Registry. How can they get away with this, and where are the phone registry police when you need them?
I hate that there’s not a dislike button on Facebook, for when someone posts something sad and you don’t want to like it because that would be like liking the person’s disaster.
I hate when my kids move the ChapStick from its rightful place on the kitchen shelf to their pockets.
I hate when they eat the last of the ice cream and then put the empty container back into the freezer.
I hate that after watching just about any 30-minute infomercial, I am totally convinced I have a real need for the product they are selling. I also hate that I can get sucked into a 30-minute infomercial. I want to believe I’m smarter than that. I hate that I’m not.
I hate when I accidentally hit the wrong button on my car keys and my vehicle starts honking incessantly and I have no idea how to make it stop.
I hate junk email that doesn’t have a link to unsubscribe and tells me I am overweight, have wrinkles or need Garcinia Cambogia, which I have no clue what that is.
Since we’re on the topic of email, I hate being coerced into providing my address to various retail stores with the threat I’ll miss out on important coupons if I don’t, and then they barrage me with daily emails and I spend more time hitting the delete button than using their coupons.
I hate that I can’t keep my phone screen clean and shiny.
I hate and am embarrassed by the fact that pet hair permeates every nook and cranny of my house. No matter how often I vacuum. It knows no bounds.
I hate when I forget someone’s name and I hate how often I commit this error.
I suppose I could go on, but this line of thinking messes with my mojo. I don’t like it when my glass is half empty and would rather pay attention to what I enjoy. Focusing on the things I dislike puts me in a bad mood. And I hate that.