MOST THINGS CONSIDERED
Minx McCloud
I’m reading an interesting book at the moment. Its title is “A Complaint Free World: How to Stop Complaining and Start Enjoying the Life You Always Wanted.”
Will Bowen, a minister in Missouri, wrote it. He’s a cheerful guy who is hoping to one day live in a world where nobody gripes.
I read a lot of self-help books, but I usually fizzle out about halfway through them. The Rev. Bowen started a program in his church in which you put a purple band on your wrist. If you complain about anything, you change it to the other wrist. This is to make you aware of how often you complain (It also hurts if the band is too tight).
He proudly asserts that more than 6 million people have written to his church for bracelets.
I mulled this over and then got a large thick rubber band to put on my wrist. An uncomfortably tight one. Since I am a rabid complainer, it was on the other wrist before it could completely stop my circulation.
I changed it back and forth all day and then discarded it for good, not liking the idea of gangrene setting in.
So much for changing my life.
Let’s face it, folks. Nobody likes a whiner, but if you cut all the complaints out of your life, there’s just nothing to talk about. Who the heck can make it through a 6-foot snowstorm without at least one complaint? And what is the difference between a complaint and a fact, by the way?
I mean, you look out the window and see that the driveway is covered with 6 feet of snow. You know your snow-blower is on the fritz, and you can’t get into the garage to get it even if it wasn’t. Aren’t you entitled to a few well-chosen curses?
OK, maybe you really don’t want to curse. After all, they say cursing is the sign of a weak mind. But, if you say out loud, “This is going to be a lousy day,” is that a complaint or merely an observation?
What if you simply state that you don’t want to live in New Jersey anymore? Is that a complaint, or just a statement? You see the obvious dilemma here, right?
I find that as a humor writer, I must complain. It’s part of my nature. If I sit down to write this column and the only thing I have to say is, “my husband is so sweet. Today he let me sleep in while he made his own breakfast,” how funny is that? It’s not.
The truth is, he attacked the kitchen, used the last of the milk on his cereal, left buttered toast crumbs all over the counter, and then whistled his way off to work, leaving me to clean the disaster zone. And did I mention the layer of bacon fat on the stove?
Is that a complaint? You bet it is. It also makes for a funnier column. Where would humor be if we couldn’t kvetch?
Jim was also in a foul temper this morning. The battery had gone dead in his beeper and it was a major challenge for him to find a new one. He was clearly annoyed that he had mistaken an AAA battery for an AA, and furthermore, the one he chose was dead anyway. Somehow it became my fault. “Why do you keep dead batteries?” he stormed.
”Because I have better things to do than to test batteries all day,” I replied. (Sadly, I don’t.) “Besides, they’re not dead when I put them in the drawer. That happens over time.” This was an argument he simply could not win, so he eventually calmed down and found the right battery. He can be a real twit at times, and this is a statement, not a complaint.
I also enjoyed one part of the book where the Rev. Bowen said that you only have to change the wristband if the complaint is spoken; unspoken complaints are freebies. You get to have a lot of those festering in your feverish little brain, but they cannot be voiced.
I wouldn’t be able to remain silent. I would have all these negative thoughts through my head like Pac-man, chomping away at brain tissue. If I didn’t vent my complaints, it would only be a matter of time before my head blew right off my shoulders because of those destructive little maggots. Ka-blam!
Just sit there for a moment and realize what your life would be like without being able to complain. Look at all the things that might come up in everyday conversation that could be construed as complaints: “But Honey, it’s too expensive.” “It’s too cold to go out for the newspaper in my bathrobe.” “She’s serving peanut chicken. I’m allergic.” “Oh fudge, a flat tire just when I’m in a hurry.” The list would go on forever.
Even the simple statement, “the cat needs a bath,” can be labeled a complaint, especially in our house, where bandages and tourniquets are standard equipment in bathing the demon we call “Kiwi.” Needless to say, we don’t do it often.
Quite frankly, I think that if we never complained, we would be pretty darn boring. Everyone needs to get things off of their chest at times. It’s when we moan about the same things and do nothing to change out lives that we get a bit annoying. The moral here is to constantly change your complaints so you aren’t considered boring.
Those who know me know that I have a positive attitude. I can take life’s major upsets and make jokes out of them. I always see the humorous side of things; it’s a matter of survival.
But if I had to remain silent and not complain about any of the nonsense in my life, it would suck the life out of me. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t complain at least a little bit. And usually, they’re pretty neat people. So I won’t be changing my habits in the near future. Sorry, Rev. Bowen.
Now that I’ve had my say, complaints and all, can anyone tell me how to get rid of these red marks on my wrists?
Minx McCloud is a freelance writer who writes about life in New Jersey. She can be reached at mccloudnj@aol.com