stand before a mirror, preferably a full length one elaborately framed in gilded carvings, as you might find in any rococco palace
contort your face in to a grotesque expression of wounded petulance, with body-language to match
pitch the voice in a throaty kind of self-pitying whinge that fills the world with your disappointment & rattles the window panes
and say loudly after me ...
"i've got NOTHING to complain about !"
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