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There’s an old saying that misery is made, not born.  We all know five people we can count on one hand who fit the pattern of "miserable".  Nothing seems to make them happy even when the world is their very own oyster.  So, what’s up with them?

Exhibit A:  Old Mr. "Picayune" Phenleigh.  He’s always seemed old.  Even when he was still young.  A slave to his own dull, insipid, uninspiring regimentation, all it takes is a single, solitary change in his usual, well-scheduled regime to turn his normal dictatorial demeanor to something resembling Rasputin.  Of course, he won’t say what’s wrong.  He’d rather act out in a manner not unlike a despot so everyone, including his dog and cat, scurry for a dark, hidden cave.  Mind you.  He’s in good health.  His eyesight is fine, as is his hearing.  For a septuagenarian, he’s relatively agile.  Doesn’t matter.  Utter a single sound in his presence, no matter what it may be, a sigh even, and you’ve lit the match that competes with the Chicago Fire.

Exhibit B:  Mrs. "Vindictive" Viacca.  Now, here’s a lady who is financially secure, has a lovely family, complete with children, grandchildren and a happily deceased husband.  Happily deceased because...Mrs. Viacca’s needling, nagging, and nudging make death preferable to an existence with a woman whose utterances are sterile dogma.  If she says it, do the safe thing.  Pretend you didn’t hear a single word.  Respond and you’ll likely get a tongue lashing worse than the Scourging at the Pillar.  You cannot possibly hope to meet her expectations.  She is, after all, the Supreme Being.  Therefore, only she has the right to complain.  And, complain she will.  A day on the desert with her is like a day in the Antarctic....mind-numbing, with frostbite strongly possible.   Even her healthy bank account is automatic cause for fear of bankruptcy.   If ever she spots you attempting autonomy, run as fast as you can.  Or, be the unwitting victim of criticism even papparazzi would envy.

Exhibit C:  Mr. "Aching Bones" Hadley.  Here’s a guy, who admittedly held self-discipline in little regard for more than five decades.  No matter.  He has more misery than one man’s body can possibly endure.  And, he’ll remind you of it every minute he gets a chance.  If ever a day goes by when Mr. Hadley doesn’t mention his maladies, it’s only because he’s likely succombed to one of them.  The sun may shine brightly.  But, watch how fast the clouds turn black when you meet Hadley on the street and venture a polite, "How are you?".  "How are you?"??? You’ll wish you’d lost your voice before you asked.  His list is longer than a legislative earmark.  By the time, he takes a breath between his self-diagnoses on his "condition", you’re already too zoned out to care.

Exhibit D: Missy Misery.  She’s the gal who suffers in silence, save for that Anna Magnani long-suffering expression on her face you’d better notice before she wins the Oscar for her portrayal in "Misery Loves Company."  Her role in life is to use her silent film character to hone your extra-sensory skills to zero in on what constitutes true misery, sans the method acting schtick.  With this one, you don’t need much in the way of ESP.  She’s so delicate that a "breath might wither her" as Dickens once wrote.  Although, it would likely have to be the breath of Superman or the Hulk.  Her dialogue includes a bit of mime.  But, for someone in such an extreme state of misery, you’ve got to hand it to her, her 3-act play at misery is as good as it gets.  In Act One, she’ll sigh faintly.  Or faint with a sigh.  Act Two punctuates the dire need for your attention:  eyes roll toward heaven, limbs go weak and trembly.  No.  She’s not in love.  She’s acting remember?  By Act Three, the depth of her misery is such that even you begin to feel ill.

And exactly what antidote has the propensity to innoculate these poor, miserable creatures?  Only sheer joy in knowing their misery stew incorporates anyone foolish enough to devalue their own personal contentment, happiness and serenity.

Caution:  Eat sparingly of this cuisine.