My face. Not just my perception of the image I see reflected in the mirror, but the actual pasty, lumpy, rotting, fleshy thing on the front of my head. I hate it, and it hates me.
Also, my downstairs neighbors, who stupidly insist on running their air conditioner all night long when it's only 60º F outside, and who just burned something in their kitchen, thereby stinking up my whole apartment.
And the guys who come around to mow the lawns. Grass grows very quietly. They shouldn't have to make so much noise to cut it.
And stores that close before nightfall. If they want my money, they should let me shop at a decent hour, like 3:00 a.m.
And the sun, which rises much too early and sets much too late.
And flies—nasty, filthy, disgusting flies. I don't like them, either.
But mostly, it's my face. We just can't seem to get along.