Too happy

Look, you know, I can be moody occasionally.  Still, I’m pretty even-keel most of the time, and—dare I say it?—a mostly happy guy.  Happiness is good—for me and for you.  It’s a contagious societal lubricant.

But too much happiness is unsettling.  Do you know this much-too-happy guy?  The guy who always greets you way too enthusiastically (and quite possibly loudly)?  Who always whistles?  Who’s got a ready bucket of glurge, whatever the situation?  Who dives into the most mundane task—the teeth cleaning, the yard raking, the required work seminar—as if it were the first day of a two-week DisneyWorld junket?

Do you know the kind of happy I’m talking about?

See, I figure there are two possibilities.  One is that he used to experience a normal range of emotions.  It got to be too much, he snapped like a fast food toy, and the happy-happies are the only synapses still reliably firing.  The other is that it’s a facade, delivered daily without exception and at substantial expense of energy.

Whatever the case, would you really be surprised to come to work one day and find out he beat his housekeeper to death with a hammer?

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