The Guy only buys about two pairs of shoes every three years.
It's a lengthy process, usually because he wants another pair "just like"
the ones he just wore out, whether it's the dress shoes, nice casuals, Timberlands,
or boots. He spends more time and energy (his and mine) on this rare acquisition
that I spend on all of my numerous annual shoe purchases combined.
Saturday was the day. Somewhere along the way, I began to
fade and requested lunch from Wentzels.
"Wentzels?" he said.
"If you don't mind," I said politely.
"What if I do?" He was teasing.
"Then I guess I won't eat at Wentzels," I said.
"And I'll pout."
He started to laugh and pronounced that I don't pout; I
rage.
This started me thinking how there is all kinds of mad.
The Pouter pouts,
pure and not so simple. Lip out, hurt look, silent treatment. Will never come
right out and say what's wrong. Never mistake seething for pouting. Seething
often leads to raging.
The Rager. That's
me. You never have to guess what I'm mad about. I yell. I slam. I say all
manner of fair and unfair things. The good part is, it passes pretty quickly
and when I'm over it, I'm over it. I'll even apologize, though I am careful to
point out what I am sorry for (the unfair things I yelled) and what I am not
(the fair things I yelled). It took me a while to learn that just because I get
over it quickly, the object of my ire isn't always on the same time schedule.That's inconvenient.
The Flouncer gets
very busy—washing bathtubs, sorting magazines, vacuuming floors, all at warp speed and all the while silently enumerating the injustices that are continuing to pile up by the minute.
The Wallower never
lets anything go. I mean never. He/she's
been mad for years about the same stuff, but the list continues to grow. When asked
what's wrong, the answer is always, "Nothing." Wallower also tends to think there is hidden meaning in everything.
Poor Pitiful Me thinks
he/she has no right to be angry and tries to deny it—so it grows and grows until
there is an explosion unlike a scholar of Armageddon has even imagined.
What's your anger style? Which one annoys you most?
I don't blame you Jean. I have been eating at Wintzell's since 1984 and I love the place! Used to only be on Dauphin Street in downtown Mobile. It's kind of strange to see them everywhere now. But good for me - I love the crab claws.
ReplyDeleteI am also a rager. I literally explode and rant about whatever has angered me then, poof, I am over it. I, too, apologize for the unjust things I have said but NEVER for the things that I had the right to say. Once it's over, I'm over it.
Yes, love me some Wentzels. So does The Guy. That's why he was teasing. He'll eat there any time.
ReplyDeleteSometimes rage feels good.
A long, long time ago, my mother told me, "You can apologize for the things you say, but you can't unsay them. The person you hurt will always be hurt." So I don't rage. That's not the say I haven't flown into a rage, but they aren't the kind of rages where I yell things; they're the kind of rages where a truck driver locked the door of his semi to keep me from dragging his butt out of the cab and stomping it all over the interstate. But that's another story. Oh, wait. I WAS yelling things, along the lines of "unlock this door, you yellow #&%%(*@! s.o.b. because I'm going to drag you a#% out and stomp it all over the interstate." He never did. Oh well.
ReplyDeleteI'm pretty even-tempered, except in dire circumstances. But in my head there's a list, and this list has two sides. It has the Good side, and the Bad side. When the bad outweighs the good, then that's it. When I'm mad, I try to wait until I'm less angry before I say anything. Not only do I want to be accurate (this is strategic, because the goal of an argument is to win, and so I want the high ground) but then there's less chance that I flash into the pull-the-truck-driver-out-of-the-cab rage.
Amazingly, I too have done this to another driver. Amazingly, she didn't call the police to me. I consider kicking the side of her door but I had on some pretty expensive boots and I didn't want to ruin them. I am always surprised at the thoughts that cross my mind when I am in such a rage - random.
DeleteOh, my. I would love to know what that truck driver did. I know it was really bad.
ReplyDeleteI do find that the longer I live, the less I rage. I probably haven't been really mad in two years. A couple of weeks ago, The Guy ordered the wrong crust for the pizza. (It was wrong for him too. We both dislike thick crusts.) I was tired and hungry when it came and and I was mildly miffed--but not at him. I just wanted the pizza I wanted. The Guy kept wanting to discuss how it had just been a mistake. I finally said, "Look. Let just not be mad over something that does not matter. A pizza does not matter." A Wallower would have been sure he didn't order think crust because the didn't love her. Stupid. No time for stupid.
I'm like a pouter but without the lip and hurt look. I am silent and bottle it all up inside and that's why I have gastric issues. Rage is probably better for your mental and physical health (though if the truck driver retaliates, it might not be so good).
ReplyDeleteMarilyn
Oh, if only he had unlocked that door, because I was in one of those adrenaline rages caused by him almost killing me, and I think I could have picked him up with one hand -- never mind that he was a pretty burly guy, from what I could see. As I was climbing up the cab was when he locked the door, so picture me hanging on the side of the cab pulling on the door and roaring a mixture of challenges, obscenities, and threats at him, without a weapon in my hands. Traffic was stopping on both sides of the interstate -- well, partly because I'd turned my car sideways in front of him to block the highway, and I'd had to drive in the median to get in front of him anyway. To this day I don't know why I'm not dead, why I wasn't decapitated. It was that close. I don't know how I turned the car. The angels had to be in on that one. Then they probably stepped back, holding their hands up as if to say, "Whoa. We should probably call in reinforcements." And they did, in the form of the driver's guardian angels, who prompted him to lock the door . I think I was probably the poster child for Losing It.
DeleteMarilyn, Try some flouncing. That relieves tension.
DeleteML--I will be you changed his life. It needed changing.
Hmm...I think as a newlywed I was a Flouncer. But that was primarily due to the fact that there was a neat-freak-mother-in-law in the picture. Truth be told, I'm a Rager, but it takes quite a bit to get me that mad. Like the lipstick/wallpaper episode I told you about a while back.
ReplyDeleteI've also been known to internally analyze anger to the death, but then I get bored and move on. I think that's in direct relation to hormone balances, myself.
So I don't know. But I DO know what it feels like to have my blood boil, and I assure you, everyone around me will know when that happens! Doors will slam, fists will swing and words will come out of my mouth that make my usual sailor's vocabulary seem like child's play. But again, it's a rare occasion. I just can't get that worked up about it.
We should have a mad off some time. Wait. No. We can't be bothered.
DeleteI think there is a sub-catagory of Rager that is Sniper, or maybe it is a sub-catagory of Flouncer...but any way someone who doesn't throw an all out Rage fit but you know they are made because they pick at everything done by the person they are angry at.
ReplyDeleteThat's my mostly my style although I can hold it all in and Flounce around until I explode.
Good point. You would be a sniper. It's really pretty funny--if it's not directed at me. I don't like that so much.
DeleteSad to say, I'm a Flouncer. I get angry but then go and do something, all the while mumbling under my breath. I don't want to say something I don't mean, but I sure want to say something. And I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I just want to let the invisible man to know what I think about the injustice of it all. LOL!
ReplyDeleteI'm a combination rager and flouncer. Things can fly in my house as a result. The Teen is also a combo rager and flouncer. Doors can slam hard. The Physicist has yet to learn that attempting to make peace between us during a fight is more dangerous than trying to negotiate peace in the Middle East.
ReplyDeleteUsually the Teen and I make up and get over it, but the Physicist is often still left in the doghouse trying to figure out how the heck he got there when all he wanted was for "every girl to get along."
:-)