This morning when I woke up, I was Andy Rooney. Well, OK, maybe Annie Rooney. I have spent the day bemoaning the way things are when any fool can plainly see the way things should be.

Gripe one

I remember when brain neurons fired together to bring up a name or date or fact. I could count on those tiny workers in the ol’ cabeza to do their jobs in an orderly fashion.

Now, they behave like millennials. They walk out when the going gets tough. They don’t want to be required to do anything. My memory has become unreliable.

For instance, I am sick of opening the patio door and bellowing, “HERE LIZZY!” when that particular dog has been dead for more than two decades. Not to mention how it confuses my current dog, old what’s-her-name.

Gripe two

Last week I went to a dinner party and grappled with a point of etiquette that strikes me as an absurd waste of energy. Let’s call it napkin management. I am no longer going to put the dinner napkin way down there on my lap where no part of my dinner ever lands.

Much like the trajectory of the Kennedy magic bullet, a spill would have to head outward before curving down around my chest, then veer sharply inward to wedge itself between the table top and my muffin top before free falling to the napkin resting uselessly on my thighs. Right. Ain’t never happened, ain’t never gonna happen.

From now on, I will keep the napkin on the table, where it is easy to reach. Report me to the manners police if you must.

Gripe three

While still in the etiquette department, here’s a dilemma brought to my attention by my niece. What is proper management of that divider thingy at the grocery store check-out? Does the person in line ahead place it on the belt behind her purchases?

Or does the person behind place it ahead of her purchases? We must solve this folks or we’ll have grocery store anarchy.

Gripe four

What really baked my cookies yesterday was a trip to the doctor. The nurse checked my height, and I am an inch shorter than I have been since I was 13. A WHOLE BLOODY INCH!

I made her check it again and again as I stretched in my sensible shoes as high as I could reach. Where the hell did I go? If I must shrink, why not in width vs. height? The phrase “Bah Humbug” really should not be reserved for Christmas use only.

I know I’m being cranky, but as Miss Scarlett says, tomorrow is another day. From the Back Nine does not appear in the paper tomorrow. In fact, you have an entire month to come up with your own gripes instead of listening to mine.

Enjoy the time off.

Linda B. Myers is a Port Angeles writer and author of such books as “Fun House Chronicles,” “A Time of Secrets: A Big Island Mystery” and the Bear Jacobs mystery series. Her work is available at amazon.com and local bookstores, plus excerpts appear on her website lindabmyers.com. Contact her at myerslindab@gmail.com or Facebook.com/lindabmyers.author.