First there were bombings in Boston. A dear friend has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. And now a Texas fertilizer plant blows up and rains glass shards and havoc upon the residents of a sleepy little town. So much awful news in so short a time.
So. Miss Crankypants feels guilty. Responsible in some weird way. Like maybe she hasn’t been paying attention, or that her humor offerings are being rejected by the comedy gods. This IS all Miss CP’s fault. Isn’t it?
Somehow, Miz Cranque is always taking the guilt, for everything from her epic fail in anything numbers-related to burned dinner to global warming.
You say you’re hungry? It’s Miss CP’s fault that she didn’t think ahead and start the crock pot last night. No clean socks? Well, if you’ve got ten minutes maybe she could knit you a fresh pair. All this guilt-tripping is exhausting, for sure.
But it occurs to Miss Cranky that maybe knitting socks is trivial when she could be DOING something about the latest awful events.
She will call upon the powers that be and demand that all this crappy stuff take a break. Really. We’ve about had it up to here with awfulitis. No more innocent bloodshed. No more anhydrous ammonia shrapnel burning faces or pressure cookers with nails. No more stupid cancers eating up perfectly delightful folks who don’t look that good without hair. All these things feel like terrorism of the first degree.
Enough!
Did you hear her? She and God are going to come down there and kick some tushie. Back off, terrible happenings. Or else God and Miss Crankypants will show you terrorism. Now step aside and let this shy retiring rainbow through.