How old do you have to be before the word “crotchety” applies to you?  I’ve never met a toddler I’d describe as “crotchety”, but I know some older folks who make a fuss if they don’t eat dinner by 4:00.  Where’s the line?

I only ask because I think I can start to use this to describe myself (along with “debonair” and “dryscalp”).

MaEwiK2Z2plHLF9MpthVwhgv-ysI’ve always had crotchety tendencies (starting sentences with “back in my day”, mentioning that I’m the only one who knows what makes an IRA “Roth”, and making nondescript grunting noises to cover up smells, etc.), but I think my new stance officially pushes me over the edge:

I vow to never again watch a parade.  They’re dumb, they’re boring, no one likes them; let’s stop pretending.

Every year I watch at least a half-dozen parades, and every year everyone around me pretends to be dazzled by them.  Stop it.  They’re a caravan of trailers with trash stapled to them.  They move slow.  There are horses in every parade and they always shit in the middle of the road. The Grand Marshall is never anyone you’ve ever heard of, and they always pretend like this is some sort of honor (which, I guess, it might be, since they never have to watch the parade).  There’s always the local fire department showing how loud they can be, and there’s always the local politician letting you know that he likes parades too.

The only redeeming quality of a parade is when they throw candy, but even that’s screwed up; they either drop it in the middle of the street or they hit you in the eye.

I say no more.

No more conversations about parade routes.  No more saying, “Oooh!  Lookit this one!”  No more questions about balloons or who owns the one sports car at the front of the line.  No more.

Does that make me “crotchety”, or is that just good sense?

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