My usual area for rage is on the road. Great, I know, right? Not to the extent that I will pull a gun or put the pedal down and mow over those in front of me (which is tough in a Prius anyway) but I do get pissed more easily while driving. I don’t know if it is the fact that dumbass drivers risk more than their own safety or what. Suffice it to say, fingers fly in all their painted glory, as do shouts of rage and filth come flowing like poetry out of my tinted lips. I can weave together profanity the way an artist would use paints to create their masterpiece.
Now flipping the bird and swearing are not at all a male only activity, my wife can make a truck driver ask her to tone it down a bit, but it’s different with me as Jenn.
As Jenn, I try to present a feminine quality that I admire (though I do like the tough girls too) and with that comes a certain amount of restraint and poise. But when I am pressed into that spot where fangs are shown and claws come out, Jenn vanishes and is replaced by her own Mr. Hyde.
When pushed to this point, I am, in all appearances, a “guy in a dress”, which makes me even more upset at reaching that breaking point. There is nothing feminine left at this point. Of course, the issue there is with whomever I am getting irritated with. At that point, they are clearly not dealing with a typical lady, which could easily get my 130 lb ass kicked, or worse.
I have been working diligently on this and it has gotten better. For me to be pushed to that limit, now, I have to be pushed so far that any normal person would snap far before me. I’m no Wonder Woman, but, at times, it takes all the strength of my magic lasso to reign in the beast that beats inside the delicate frame that has so carefully been constructed.