It's the time of year when people who spend a solid ten months acting like Scrooge are all of a sudden brimming with gratitude for any and everything ("I just love my new boots! Hashtag thankful!").

Don't get me wrong, I consider myself a very grateful person, and I appreciate Thanksgiving as much as the next person.

Still, there's something that often feels just a little bit fake (side-eye to you Facebook). I feel the need to bring some balance to the conversation. As a parent, here are a few things I most certainly am not thankful for.

Self-checkout lines

Our local stores regularly have between five and ten self-checkouts available while the two lines staffed by live humans have a crap-ton of people waiting. This forces me to choose between juggling my three children in a line that will take forever or wrangling them in a line that will destroy all my sanity (and also possibly take forever).

In my pre-parenthood life, I avoided self-checkouts because I couldn’t buy booze in them. Now, I avoid them because I can’t handle scanning the 42,000 pounds of produce my family goes through every three days (#thankfulforfamily).

My success rate with self-checkouts is roughly 2%. The other 98% of the time, after fumbling awkwardly with my limited grocery and packing space, an unidentifiable error occurs. This requires me to wait for the lone attendant, who is busy helping the other six self-checkout lines with their problems.

The camera scanner on the self-checkout also regularly believes I’m stealing things, probably on account of my small children who are fumbling around like feral squirrels, fighting over who-knows-what, right at camera-level (#mygreatestblessings).

Rompers (for adults)

With the onset of chilly weather, mercifully, this fashion trend is getting ready to go into hibernation (#givethanks). I thought rompers would be a short-lived trend when they popped up years ago, but, like many things, I was wrong.

There’s something to be said for body confidence – but, I’m sorry, very few bodies (above the age of two), are made for rompers. If you are 5’10 and weigh 110 pounds, carry on sister, although I still think you’d be better off in just about any other outfit. For the other 3.6 billion-ish females on this planet, I encourage you to re-think this particular fashion choice (#thankyou).

Aside from the awkward way they look, you have to basically strip naked to use the bathroom. This is especially problematic if you have children because you are likely toileting with an audience.

Now, in addition to “Are you pooping?” and, if you’re a mom to boys, “Where is your penis?” you also get to field questions about your boobs and possible muffin-top situation (#blessed). I don’t need that kind of interrogation while I’m just trying to pee, for the love.

To be clear, for diapered children, I am a huge fan of the romper. Rompers are one of the few outfits that do not allow my toddler to pull down his pants and throw poop. So, rompers, I suppose I actually am grateful for you, in this appropriate, limited context (#attitudeofgratitude).

All.The.Germs

We are finally to the point in the year where mosquitos and many of their other disgusting insect friends have gone back to hell where they belong (#countyourblessings), but there’s a different kind of bug lurking.

I really should say “bugs,” plural. People become more generous with their time and money at this time of year, but they also start sharing their germs. One touch of a countertop, doorknob, or shopping cart can lead to an infestation of the common cold, strep, the flu, or, Heaven forbid, norovirus.

I have begun popping probiotics and bathing in Purel as a preventative measure against these nightmarish illnesses. I suggest you join me (#togetherandthankful).

Stingy Pharmacists

This is directly connected to All.The.Germs discussed above. When my children contract strep, pneumonia, or whatever other disgusting bacteria they got from licking the water fountain at school (quit feigning shock, you know that’s what kids do), they need an antibiotic.

Let’s suppose my doctor prescribes 100 mL total over the course of ten days. My pharmacist dispenses not one droplet more than 100 mL (#thankfulgratefulblessed).

Have you ever tried to wrestle an unwilling preschooler and force them to swallow a sticky, pink substance they don’t wish to ingest? If you haven’t, it’s super fun and you should try it sometime. There is always a degree of medicine sacrificed in the battle, ranging from a few drops to a full dose.

Dearest pharmacist, it’s not like I’m asking you to slip some extra Valium or Vicodin into my prescription. I just need a few extra mL of penicillin so that my child doesn’t have to lick the last sticky remnants from the sides of the bottle to fully complete his course of antibiotics on the final day. If you could do this, I’d be exceedingly #grateful.

With those things in mind…

If you’re feeling just a tad overwhelmed by the level of manufactured thankfulness you currently see plastered everywhere (#30daysofgratitude), I hope this has given you the dose of sarcasm you need to keep on keeping-on.

On the other hand, if you are one of the offenders celebrating Thanksgiving with their own personal hashtag binge, well, I think it’s time you went on a social media fast. Everyone knows the holidays are the perfect time to start a diet.

{This post was originally published on That's Inappropriate and is republished with permission.}