wrong side of the bed

I had a serious case of rage yesterday.  Here are some of the assorted items that triggered my ire, trivial as they may seem:

• The ironing board.  It was all in my living room, up in my face.
• P asking if I was going to continue with ironing his shirts.  While my hands were plunged in a sinkful of dirty dishes.
• Dishes.
• P's thumb, preventing him from doing dishes.
• P's thumb, making him moan about ironing his shirts.
• P asking for help with his buttons.
• P's shoes, on the floor.  EXISTING.
• P insisting he could use his suitcase if he wanted to, contrary to my wishes.
• P's face.
• P.
• The television remote controls. PLURAL.
• Eating crap food.
• Running out of breath mints.
• People in the lift inconsiderately getting out at floors that weren't mine.
• People in the lift with halitosis.
• People on the street dawdling.
• People.
• The window decorations at Smith + Caugheys (annoying songs + dopey, creepy puppets)
• Picking P up from getting his wound redressed.
• Traffic.
• Parking.
• Getting attitude from P about how far away I parked.
• My pizza getting cold.
• OH FUCK IT BASICALLY EVERYTHING.

I can see now how *rational* I was.  Nothing like the Christmas spirit, aye?