I hate putting pillowcases on pillows. Don’t get me wrong, I love my pillowcases, and my OCD even demands I have two pillow cases on each of my pillows. I just hate the actual act of putting the case on the pillow.
I hate it when people open their car doors at intersections to spit on the street.
I hate hard plastic packaging that requires scissors, a jackhammer and a pound of C-4 to open before you can free your newly purchased item from its’ clutches.
I hate that my glasses fogged up when I walked outside this morning, and it’s not even July yet.
I hate that I can’t go to the store without forgetting something, even when I have a list. I somehow develop selective blindness while in the store and pass over at least three crucial items I need for the week.
I hate whoever keeps littering in our yard, and wish I could magically electrify the sidewalk to zap them every time they throw their drink cups, food wrappers and cigarette butts in my grass.
I hate being grouchy, so I’m going to have a cocktail and get in a better mood.
