The art of being grumpy if there is such thing.

It's ugly. I can't picture anything uglier. It feels ugly and I have no control. My sugar drops and like a full moon rising this thing builds inside me and I change right before your very eyes into a beast. Werewolves would be kinder I think.

I snarl and spew venom at anyone within range. The kids run and hide. The oldest son, teaching the youngest to just stay away. Martin treads carefully testing the degree of grumpiness, and asks what's for supper. I snarl, growl, show fangs. Wolves come out of the woods hearing my howls. If it's full blown he ducks. If it's not he guides me and I grumble and growl as I prepare the meat for the meal. Some days he tries to make the meal but ROAR, I don't want to eat that! So he doesn't.

When he's brave, Martin puts on his armour, yields his sword and tries to tame the beast. Deflects my bites and gets close enough to shove some food down my throat. Beer works. Or wine. Sometimes even a cookie. Then as quickly as it came, the murderous tendencies fade and I purr like a kitten. The beast is sedated. He gives me a scratch behind the ear and I change back into myself.

Some people in my family like to tease the beast (not naming names brothers) and poke me to see just how enraged I can get. A game to them. I snarl, they laugh. Which is why when I was a kid and kicked my oldest brother square in the nose, my mother told him he deserved it and I got away scott free.

It would be nice if I never got grumpy at all, but it's genetic. A characteristic of my father and I that the family has decided is within limits to tease us about. (no they did not consult us when that was decided) My father and I growl at each other and as life would have it, understand each other quite well.

At least my kids are like Martin. Slayers of dragons and not dragons themselves. My oldest brother has the kids with the grumpy gene. Who said nature doesn't have a sense of humour?