Apr 8, 2008

See You Next Tuesday

Photo: I am Rage and you are the Machine.

I had one of those 'female moments' today. You know the kind I'm talking about; the kind that gives other females a bad name (and I think we all know what name describes that kind of female best). When I hear the word 'moment', it makes me think of an occasion, or maybe a happenstance of some kind; I am not referring to that kind of moment. This was no occasion. This was sheer asshattery, which is a word I had to make up in order to describe my demented behavior, and that should tell you how dire the situation was. I had to coin a fucking phrase just to convey how unbelievably atrocious I was today. But I don't want to tell the story in a boring, linear kind of way, oh no--I'll just start somewhere in the middle and then dismount like a champion. Observe:

So as I was beating my clothes to death in my walk-in closet with a down-filled pillow (I think of it now as The Pillow of Vengeance), pounding the walls and my hangers and my dirty laundry like a domestic violence scene gone horribly awry (all innocent bystanders were hurt in the process, I assure you), I thought to myself: there has got to be a better way to destroy these things and make my day even worse. So I started throwing stuff around, which is always helpful and mature, and I felt much better. After a long, screamy diatribe about the idiocy of Microsoft Office products--which was peppered with short outbursts of rage and a frightfully long weep under the covers around mid-afternoon--I realized that the Esq was navigating through my emotional minefield with all the aplomb of a terrified game show contestant. It occurred to me that I was throwing a tantrum, equal to four pre-teens on their periods, about eight hours too late; so I decided I would sit down, shut up, and ride it out like an adult. I would meditate, steam some vegetables, read a self-help book, go to bed early--that would ease my stress and tension. Unfortunately, I did none of those things--meditation leads to sleep, vegetables and self-help books are banned in this household, and going to bed early is against my creed. My next To-Do list starts with: 1) Rip out my uterus. 2) Become a man.

So it's eight hours later and I'm still waiting for that attitude adjustment; also, I'm still not a man. *weeps*


Michelle Auer said...

This is almost equal to my desire to throw every dish in the house in the trash when I discovered that SOMEBODY left on tour after a major cooking project leaving a sink full of the aftermath for me to clean up. Grrrrr...
Instead, I just decided to leave them there till he came back. (Not really, but that was a nice dream for a minute. A month of rotting dishes is too much for even me to take though) :-)

Snotty McSnotterson said...

I think you should bag them up, buy new dishes, and then re-create the scene of the crime for when he gets back. :) I've been married before, I know how to win.