I like to consider myself a pretty mellow person. I don't get flustered easily. I rarely (if ever) fly off the handle. It takes a lot to make me mad. And it is almost entirely impossible to embarrass me.
I have however recently discovered that when I do get angry, the level of my anger is directly proportional to the amount of shopping I will do. I know, how horribly cliche.
I came home yesterday to find a sink full of dishes, an apartment full of clutter, and a bathroom rug full of Hurley's pee. While I was at work all day, B's work day doesn't begin until 4:30 on Tuesdays.
After I had cleaned, walked the dog, and started the laundry, B came home, as peppy as a freshman cheerleader. I. Was. Pissed. Not to mention severely premenstrual.
B got an expletive-laden earful, and I went out and got four new pairs of shoes.