- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- The window decorations at Smith + Caugheys (annoying songs + dopey, creepy puppets)
- Picking P up from getting his wound redressed.
- Getting attitude from P about how far away I parked.
- My pizza getting cold.
- OH FUCK IT BASICALLY EVERYTHING.
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
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: