Ah, Vermont—the Green Mountain State, where flannel is formalwear, maple syrup flows like liquid gold, and locals have mastered the art of graceful grumbling. We’ve got mountains, moose, and more covered bridges than people in some towns. But if you haven’t muttered at least a few of these complaints—preferably while staring at a snowbank in April with a steaming cup of local-roasted coffee—are you even really from Vermont?
Mud Season Being a Full-On Personality Test
It’s not spring—it’s brown slush, ruined boots, and a stuck Subaru season.
People Thinking Maple Syrup Comes From the Grocery Store
If it came in a plastic bottle shaped like a lady, we don’t want it.
Tourists Treating Every Cow Like a Celebrity
Yes, we have cows. No, you don’t need to stop your car and take 47 selfies with them.
Out-of-Staters Mispronouncing “Montpelier” and “Calais”
It’s Mont-PEEL-yer and Callous. Say it wrong and we’ll smile… then judge you forever.
People Acting Like Ben & Jerry’s Is All We Eat
It’s not our entire diet. But yes, we do have our favorite flavors memorized.
Your Car Being Eaten Alive by Road Salt
If your vehicle isn’t rusting from the bottom up, are you even wintering correctly?
Outsiders Assuming Everyone Here Lives in a Quaint Mountain Cabin
Some of us live in regular houses. With Wi-Fi. And occasionally, heat.
The State Basically Going to Bed at 8 P.M.
Nightlife? What’s that? We’re in pajamas by 7 and proud of it.
Flatlanders Panicking at the First Flake of Snow
Don’t brake on the hill, Susan. You’re making this worse for everyone.
The Annual Debate Over Who Has the Best Cider Donuts
It’s civil war, but with more cinnamon sugar and passive-aggression.
Tourists Asking Where the Nearest Mall Is
Nearest? Try New Hampshire. Good luck, and bring snacks.
The Whole “Freedom and Unity” Thing Being… Confusingly Accurate
We want peace, privacy, progressive policies, and the right to yell at you for parking weird at the co-op.
Sure, we Vermonters love to complain—about tourists, temperatures, and tire chains—but it’s all part of the maple-scented magic. Beneath the flannel and frosty sarcasm lies a deep, unshakable love for our quirky, quiet little state. Complaining isn’t negativity here—it’s just neighborly honesty wrapped in wool socks and snow tires.
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