Why whine?
I was out driving. Cruise control set at the speed limit of 30 km/h. Stopped at a pedestrian crossing to let an elderly couple pass.
The man is staring as he passes in front of my car. Tapping the index finger at the side of his head – the international sign for “You’re crazy”.
I pull down the window. Asks what's wrong. He replies:
“There's a crossing here.”
I'm aware of that. That's why I stopped. What more can I do? I ask.
“You didn't stop fast enough.”
I start laughing at the bizarre argument. Shake my head, letting him know that he is the crazy one, not me, and drive off.
What a whining, grumpy old man. Some people will always find something to whine about. What’s the deal with that?
Fast-forward a couple of hours…
I’m writing this text, realizing something:
Now I’m the whining one. Whining about someone whining. I’ve become a grumpy old man.
And guess what? It feels pretty good. Letting it all out.
That’s why we whine.