I reserve the right to be a cranky beyotch

I'm just about done with the "first-world problems" meme. I get the intent behind it. Every once in awhile, we need to remind ourselves that missing the bus isn't like running from rape gangs in the Congo.

But some people are being jerks about it. Losing my MetroCard isn't like watching my family die in a bloodbath, but it's still a pain in the ass. The little things can add up, and I don't need some zen monk asshole telling me how lucky I am that I'm not bloated with starvation and begging for gruel.

I know I'm lucky. I don't wake up in the morning and think, "Wow, those AIDS victims in Africa have it good. They should see MY life."

It's like when strangers tell me to smile. I don't want to smile. Sometimes I'm pissed or sad. Sometimes I'm just neutral. Why are you so balls to the walls about me smiling? Am I on Candid Camera? Are you with the Happy Police? Are you trying to convince your friends off in the distance that I'm having sex with you?

So here's the deal: If you are having a first-world problem, you can be humble and label it as such. If you tell me my problem is a first-world problem, I'm going to fuck with the wheels on your grocery cart. May your cart always swerve to the left.