Carmen comes to our office to tidy up the restroom a couple of times each day. She’s a friendly and cheerful woman, considering the fact that she has to clean up behind thirty or so women every day on just our floor alone.
Jane told me that she crossed paths with Carmen in the restroom today. Carmen told Jane that she always seems so happy and it’s true. Jane does have the ability to find humor in any situation. Carmen wanted to know if Jane was ALWAYS happy. Jane explained that she told Carmen she’s not always happy and that sometimes people appear happy on the outside even when they’re not feeling so happy on the inside.
Carmen was intrigued. She asked Jane what she does when she’s not feeling so happy. Jane told me that she admitted to Carmen that when she’s unhappy she says bad words. Really bad words. Carmen wanted to know what bad words Jane said.
At this point in the story, Jane eyed me and said, “You know Carmen’s a Jehova’s Witness, right?”
“Nope. I didn’t know that. What did you tell her?”
“I told her I say, ‘F*CK.’ I like to say it over and over and I like to say it loud.”
“What does Carmen think of you now? Does she think you’re going to hell?”
“No, she wants to save me now.”
I told Jane that when I’m really mad, the bad words just don’t cut it for me. Personally, I’m a thrower. Throwing things makes me feel so bad it feels good. I don’t throw anything of value though. I’m not stupid. I don’t want to regret anything once the anger has passed. I just need a good release. (Just a note: Never throw a bottle of Tylenol unless you are prepared to piece together your pain medication when you need it most.)
Take this past weekend for example. Saturday was a little, shall we say, “maritally unblissful.” Something got into the two of us and the day fell apart. I was on the verge of trying to lure the skittish cat out of hiding with a handful of kitty treats when a snide little remark was uttered and it made my blood boil. (And I’m prepared to admit now, after the fact, that I might have, just maybe had something to do with prompting that snide remark.) The kitty treats never served their intended purpose. They got whipped across the laundry room. Oh YEAH! That felt good for about two seconds! And then who had to suffer because of this little tantrum? Just me. Who had to go vacuum those crunchy little treats out of the corner of the laundry room? You guessed it. Me.
(Hey, I never said my habit of celebrating immaturity was limited to FUN things!)
Jane agreed with me that throwing things feels REALLY good. I was only mildly concerned when she told me that in her younger days, she used to throw scissors at her brothers. (Remind me never to get on Jane’s bad side.)
We then discussed the value of door slamming, which is fulfilling for the shocking noise factor. I had to agree when Jane said half the fun is knowing how much a good door slam irritates the husband. (Shhhhh… don’t tell my husband I said that!) But if you have hollow core doors, don’t even bother. It’s like trying to inflict pain on your hubby by bashing him over the head with a balloon. When having a good spat, it’s important to remember that he or she who steps on the most nerves wins!
Luckily, we came to our senses this weekend before too much stupidity transpired. Mark disappeared into the garage and didn’t resurface until it was clean. I went to the park reserve and walked the trails with my camera and did something much more productive than throwing things around the house that I would only have to clean up behind myself later.
Taking a long walk, with only myself for company and snapping some pictures along the way gave me a chance to think and clear my head and come home for the inevitable exchange:
Hubby: “I’m sorry. I was a jerk.”
Me: “Yes you were.”
I’m totally KIDDING! I apologized and admitted to being a jerk too. All is better now.
So what do you do to vent your anger?