Just finished beating my dad over the head with an empty tupperware I was about to fill with the leftovers of the delicious dinner he had made for me and my family when the melodious PLUNK, PLUNK, PLUNK, sound of plastic hitting flesh made me pause and reflect on how oh how had we ever come to this?
I don't really have much of a temper. And, yes, I am aware that that is one of those statements (much like its edgier, seat-shift-inducing cousin, "I'm not a racist, but...") that usually means the opposite of what you are saying, but I really believe this about myself. Of course I get angry, everyone with opinions and/or self respect gets angry, but it usually takes a lot for me to get to the point where I am hitting loved ones with kitchen implements. In fact it usually is only loved ones that this happens with. Especially when they are being particularly obnoxious.
I suppose it is precisely because we love them and they love us back and we know that, we can tell them how we really feel without fear of reproach, or at least without fear of diminishing love. And if they don't listen the first twelve times we describe our feelings of increasing irritation, we can stop doing the dishes long enough to pick up some tupperware and go to town.
Point is, anybody want to help me hide a body this weekend?