The Complainer

 As soon as we got on the bus, she started complaining.

I immediately named her The Complainer.

True to form, The Complainer complained about almost everything on our Tuscan Extension.

And not only did she complain, but she also sighed really loudly over and over and over again and made little comments under her breath. She was quite passive. A victim of sorts. Who carried an exasperated look on her face for three days. I felt sorry for her husband. Then again, I imagine he is used to her complaints and has probably learned to ignore them.

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We ate five, four-course meals in three days. Thanks to the Queen Bee clique always sticking together and not allowing anyone into their group, JG and I ended up sitting with The Complainer and her husband for four of the five meals.

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Last night at dinner—which was probably my favorite meal of the trip—The Complainer first judged the gnocchi—she doesn’t like potatoes. Then, after the main course—meat and more potatoes—she said, “Is this it?! I was actually hungry when I came down and a little bit of meat and potatoes isn’t going to cut it.” She said all of this as the waiter was picking up the plates and the whole room just happened to go silent.

I had to suppress my laughter.

For dessert, the chef came to explain the origins of what we were having. As she was talking, The Complainer mumbled, “Well I don’t like it.” 😮

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The Complainer is a church-goer. Her church is alive and well. They’re moving to two services soon. Contemporary and traditional. I imagine she has some complaints about the service that she will not be attending. And I imagine I know which one that is.

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Dear God, Help us to never be The Complainer—especially those of us who profess faith in you. Help us try to find the good in all circumstances, even when it’s hot or hilly or loud or not enough. Thank you for The Complainer, God. She taught me a lot. Amen.