If we’re going to be friends, it seems only fair to warn you about my buttons, so you know what not to push. I’m not talking about stuff like genocide, bullies and when Shannen Doherty left 90210. These are things that legitimately make everyone with a soul rage-filled. No, I’m talking about my own personal anger issues. If you and I are going to maintain a symbiotic relationship, I think it’s important for you be aware of this stuff so I don’t accidentally run you over with my car on purpose.
Things that make me irrationally angry:
1. Loud, unexpected sounds – You want to see me lose my shit? Open that can of pre-made biscuits without warning me first. Or run that coffee bean grinder first thing on Saturday morning when I’m still half asleep. That is why Jason has a scar on his forehead right above his left eye. I missed.
2. Gnats – What purpose do they have on Earth but to commit ritual suicide by flying into my facial orifices? Fuck you, gnats. Just fuck you.
3. Audible swallowing – When my kids get home from school at the exact moment I am in the middle of something that requires my full attention and I ask them to please (please) be quiet and leave me be for 10 more minutes so I can just finish this thing, and they go to the fridge, pour themselves a large glass of milk and spend the next 45 seconds audibly gulping it down? This is the definition of rage. White, hot, blinding rage.
4. Pseudo-science – I know I should just feel sorry for the people who believe in pretend science, but I don’t. I feel angry with them for being stupid. [Examples that will do nothing but heartily offend at least 7 people I’m close friends with and/or related to redacted.] I realize it’s intolerant of me.
5. Nude pantyhose – First of all, the word ‘pantyhose’ is disgusting and offensive for 45 reasons. Secondly: You there, you person wearing them… are you 8? Is it 1985? Are you going to church? No? Then there is something wrong with you. And it makes me angry, so stop it.
6. People who drive the speed limit when there’s no traffic blocking them or police cars in the vicinity – I’m pretty sure this needs no explanation (fuckyoufuckyoufuckyousomuch).
7. When someone tries to get my attention or communicate with me while I am on the phone – I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU THINK I CAN CLONE MYSELF INTERNALLY AND BOTH LISTEN TO MY PHONE CONVERSATION AND UNDERSTAND AND COMMUNICATE WITH YOU BUT YOU HAVE GROSSLY OVERESTIMATED MY TALENTS. IF YOU KEEP TRYING TO FORCE ME TO PROVE THIS I WILL STAB YOU.
8. People who pronounce it ‘real-i-tor’ – So let’s say you look like Ryan Reynolds, Tom Selleck in Magnum P.I. or Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park. Or even Olivia Munn. And you and I are the last people on Earth. And it’s cold and we’re lonely and we each need human comfort. And you say to me, “What did you do before the apocalypse that destroyed all other life on Earth and left us alone, clinging to each other, here in this beautiful seaside wasteland that can only inspire passion and romance?” And I reply, “I sold residential homes in Arizona, once upon a time…” And then you say, “Oh? You were a real-i-tor?” I would not have sex with you. I would walk you to the edge of the ocean and hold your head under water until I was alone in this world.
9. Zippers that refuse to line up correctly so I can zip up a jacket – Dear Zippers, do you know what’s going to happen now? Now, I’m going to take scissors and cut you up so you can never join your mate again. You think you’ll have the last laugh because I’ll be cold? The fabric won’t come together and I’ll get a chill? Nope. Because: duct tape. Also? This is Arizona. FUCK YOU as much as gnats and ‘careful’ drivers.
10. The question, “What are we having for dinner?” – When my children ask me this question, generally between 3 and 8 times a day, I know their reaction to whatever I reply will be “Oh…” *sad face*, because I’m not going to answer, Candy and bacon! I’m not sure where the possibility I might respond in this manner came from as I have literally never answered that we are having candy and bacon for dinner, but they seem to have an unending well of hope within them that this will someday be my response. Which means multiple times a day I have to dash this hope with my answers of chicken and green bean stir fry or butternut squash risotto (the latter reliably soliciting both a *sad face* and a *holding back vomit grimace*). Over the years I’ve developed a pavlovian response to the question that causes my blood to boil even before it is finished being asked. I’ve decided the only appropriate answers are, Something you will hate, and Why did I have children?
I think that’s mostly it. Now you go.