Grousing about the cost of maintaining three Jags, the Land Rover AND the Lexus? Grumbling that the imported Italian Alba White Truffles are sub-par? Griping that the Prestige Cuvée Champagne is a bit flat?
Oh, Muffin… you poor darling!
Attention! Attention! This is the Captain speaking. No whining on the yacht!
This means you. Yes, you! The one about to bellyache about how unnecessarily crowded it was at that secret exclusively-private invitation-only crashers-will-be-summarily-shot Cannes première.
Merely registering disappointment is not, in and off itself, offensive. Far be it from me to impose an outright ban on complaining. Heaven forfend. Kvetching, even kvetching with vigour, is human nature’s little pressure valve. Without it, we’d plotz from sheer frustration.
Run of the mill whingeing is one thing but I’m afraid I must take a firm stance when people within earshot are beaking-off about what an ordeal it is putting up with the day-to-day trials of being rich or even merely well-off.
It’s unseemly. Stop it. Now.