There’s a strong strain of indignation in my family. Most of us are quite comfortable proclaiming outraged disapproval, sardonic or stern, about conditions we encounter. If one were speaking negatively, the term “rager” could be used. We’re not physically abusive, but as Danny said, words can hurt if they come from people who are supposed to love you.

Katie invented the term “complainatory” to describe that volcanic critical feeling that so loves to be voiced. Some of us only notice the lawn when it needs mowing, or the other drivers when they screw up.

I’ll confess I’m not without a tendency to righteous indignation myself.

But lately, as I get old enough to talk like this, I’m seeing conditions more generously. Sure I notice the stupid drivers, of course I witness the pedestrians who are paying attention only to their handheld electronic devices but, given how unbrilliant most people are, I’m struck with amazement that we don’t collide more often.

Recently I’ve started to consider how unwise it is to let the indignation grow. I think you want to avoid inflammation. Nobody wants indignitis. Gentle satire or caustic wit is fine and maybe admirable, but you don’t want to make your indignation gland swell.

Because un(at)tended, indignitis can lead to an indignoma. And we don’t have a cure for that.