Have you ever thought how many minutes in everyday most of us devote to nursing grievances, manufactoring sharp retorts, cursing our luck, allowing ourselves to be annoyed by trifles? It will be a ghastly reflection when we come to die, that we've spent perhaps a year of our lives working ourselves into a fury because our breakfast egg is underboiled.
Erma Bombeck wrote; "The female shrew, a small mouselike creature, lives in a sex-challenged atmosphere in which she gives birth to half a dozen babies every four months and keeps herself on the brink of starvation while she provides food for everyone else, which means she has to run faster and kill more. The male shrew is oblivious. He is probably in a field somewhere beating on a rock and searching for the inner warrior within him. The female shrew usually ends up killing him."
It just goes to show - things could always be worse; you could have been born a female shrew.
