OPINION – Whiners upset me. I can stand a little complaining for a minute or two but then you have to do something with your bellyaching.
I’m a little less tolerant of nagging and bitching. When you’re into that you’re pushing for me to do something and I can guarantee you will be less than happy with the results. Ankle-biters make me crazy; they are always needing to fold, spindle, or mutilate some(one)thing.
Imagine walking good-naturedly up the sidewalk to the home of a newcomer to the neighborhood with a welcome basket of warm chocolate chip cookies. You’re a bit apprehensive, feeling a bit awkward about what to say, but chock-full of brotherly love. Then, two steps from the first step up to the porch, a pit bull-Yorkie mix runs out from under the porch barking like a dental drill and bites you on the ankle. Then, like a lightning strike, the dog scurries back under the porch and continues to bark.
I’m talking about human ankle-biters, the folks that pour salt in your emotional wounds and then run and hide, expecting you to reward them.
Those who, after you’ve put the cat on your girlfriend’s father’s head (who doesn’t like you anyway) eases the tension by jokingly saying, “that was stupid.”
Or the guy who watches you work in the July sun for a week, putting up a vinyl post and rail fence, before he tells you it’s 16 inches over his property line and has to come down.
Or the lady who, after you tore to shreds the ACL and MCL of your right knee to keep her from hitting the ground with her baby after slipping on the ice, tells you she’s pressing sexual assault charges because you brushed against her body while catching her.
Ankle-biters take delight in assuring that no good deed goes unpunished.
You know the kind of people I’m talking about and they know who they are.
They just keep fighting to get in the last word, the last slap in the face, or the last shot; maybe that’ll bring them comfort about being the person Bobby Dylan immortalized in “Positively 4th Street.”
After all, there’s got to be some comfort in knowing that there is no porch too low for you to scurry under when you’re an ankle-biter; and nobody is willing to get the kind of dirty they’d have to get to get to give you the “rewards” you so richly deserve.
Bruce Solomon is a developing columnist. The opinions stated in this article are his and may not be representative of St. George News.
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Very Interesting, Bruce. I never know for sure whether I am nipping at ankles or crawling under the porch to swat some overzealous hound on the nose.
Now Mr. Solomon, come out from under the porch. Yum, I’ve got a steak for you.
So, swearing is acceptable for professional journalism these days?
I think a professional writer could come up with an appropriate word without resorting to slang or vulgarity.
“Or the lady who, after you tore to shreds the ACL and MCL of your right knee to keep her from hitting the ground with her baby after slipping on the ice, tells you she’s pressing sexual assault charges because you brushed against her body while catching her.”
…
… wow
Dude, best to not opinionate yourself until 24 hours AFTER you’ve “burned one.”
St George… full of ankle biters, back stabbers, two-facers, liars, users, abusers… I don’t trust anyone here; they’re all out to get something for themselves.
As opposed to where ??
As opposed to everywhere else. Never before have I seen a such place where a predominant characteristic of most inhabitants is double-standard/liar/2-faced/user/abuser/back stabber
True is many cases GTFO. It’s an odd dynamic going on in this city.