Happy People

I hate happy people. Them with their smiling and laughing, tossing their happy hair just washed in their happy shampoo. They act like it would kill them to frown just once instead of making me feel bad for feeling bad all the time. What makes them so happy? The perfect lawn and picket fence they wake up to every morning on their happy suburban street? Or maybe it's those loving arms, those same loving arms that have been wrapped around them for 2,3, or 40 years, that they remember even when they are having a bad day. The same bad day that is my every day. What makes me happy? What would make me want to walk out to my car whistling the tune to some forgotten children's TV show and speak to people I don't even know? What make me happy?