Stomp
When, in the course of human events, said events become more that our little psyches can take, it becomes necessary to rise to the occasion and throw an all-out completely immature tantrum.
For instance, say your 70 lb, 9-month-old puppy makes an error in judgment and grabs your hand playfully in her mouth, causing your reflex cry of "Molly! No!" (Because you think that this behavior needs to be stopped or you will have no friends coming to visit you, due to your loving but inappropriately denticular dog and her 'love bites'.) As the words leave your lips, you realize your error; you should have hit the button on the remote in your pocket that triggers a short but extremely effective blast of citronella from your exuberant pet's collar, instead. The reason for your ruing of the shout vs the spray is that the dog pees when she senses displeasure (your yelped "No!") but not when she gets a blast from the collar.
Of course, it is too late and she pees and pees and pees all over the ruddy kitchen in several spots as you reflexively holler, "NO! NO! NO!!!!!" This is, of course, the same dog who you have taken outside to the great outdoor latrine 4 times in the past 90 minutes, all to no result.
Clearly, she anticipated such an outcome. Perhaps, she was even saving up for it.
You keep your frazzled temper barely in check, lest you tee off on the furry creature, and that would be bad, especially as she is now completely empty of urine, yet still full of poop. (Every situation can conceivably be made worse, you see.) You hustle her to her crate and turn to face the pools o' piss, completely pissed, yourself. It is then, as you vigorously pull off some paper towels with much ire, that the whole damn roll flies from your hand, spilling across the kitchen, with the lion's share of the roll, still wrapped around the center cardboard core, landing in the greatest lake of yellow.
The final straw.
Literally stomping mad, you summon your inner 2-year-old and throw a full-blown tantrum. It's not pretty. You're not proud. Sometimes, it can not be helped, though. The fury of your buttoned-down WASP-y ancesters surges through your body and you are vaguely aware of screaming, "AAAAARRRRRUUUUGGGGGRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!" While you repeatedly slam the floor with all the force in your right leg. (As you can't tee off on the dog, might as well lay the blame squarely on the floor.) BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!BOOM! Your sturdy German thighs and calves, handed down through the female line, that thousands of miles on the treadmill have made not long and lean, but even thicker and more muscle-y, drive your right foot rapidly and repeatedly into the floor.
And now you see the problem, don't you?
The foot, she is bare.
The muscles, they are strong.
The floor, it is tile.
The heel, it is now bruised.
Lesson learned. Indeed, with every step, lesson re-learned:
Always wear your padded shoes when you decide to teach the floor a lesson, lest you become the lesson, instead.
For instance, say your 70 lb, 9-month-old puppy makes an error in judgment and grabs your hand playfully in her mouth, causing your reflex cry of "Molly! No!" (Because you think that this behavior needs to be stopped or you will have no friends coming to visit you, due to your loving but inappropriately denticular dog and her 'love bites'.) As the words leave your lips, you realize your error; you should have hit the button on the remote in your pocket that triggers a short but extremely effective blast of citronella from your exuberant pet's collar, instead. The reason for your ruing of the shout vs the spray is that the dog pees when she senses displeasure (your yelped "No!") but not when she gets a blast from the collar.
Of course, it is too late and she pees and pees and pees all over the ruddy kitchen in several spots as you reflexively holler, "NO! NO! NO!!!!!" This is, of course, the same dog who you have taken outside to the great outdoor latrine 4 times in the past 90 minutes, all to no result.
Clearly, she anticipated such an outcome. Perhaps, she was even saving up for it.
You keep your frazzled temper barely in check, lest you tee off on the furry creature, and that would be bad, especially as she is now completely empty of urine, yet still full of poop. (Every situation can conceivably be made worse, you see.) You hustle her to her crate and turn to face the pools o' piss, completely pissed, yourself. It is then, as you vigorously pull off some paper towels with much ire, that the whole damn roll flies from your hand, spilling across the kitchen, with the lion's share of the roll, still wrapped around the center cardboard core, landing in the greatest lake of yellow.
The final straw.
Literally stomping mad, you summon your inner 2-year-old and throw a full-blown tantrum. It's not pretty. You're not proud. Sometimes, it can not be helped, though. The fury of your buttoned-down WASP-y ancesters surges through your body and you are vaguely aware of screaming, "AAAAARRRRRUUUUGGGGGRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!" While you repeatedly slam the floor with all the force in your right leg. (As you can't tee off on the dog, might as well lay the blame squarely on the floor.) BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!BOOM! Your sturdy German thighs and calves, handed down through the female line, that thousands of miles on the treadmill have made not long and lean, but even thicker and more muscle-y, drive your right foot rapidly and repeatedly into the floor.
And now you see the problem, don't you?
The foot, she is bare.
The muscles, they are strong.
The floor, it is tile.
The heel, it is now bruised.
Lesson learned. Indeed, with every step, lesson re-learned:
Always wear your padded shoes when you decide to teach the floor a lesson, lest you become the lesson, instead.
Labels: Whining to a Captive Audience
posted by Diana at 8:54 AM
22 Comments:
*big happy sigh*
I'm not the only adult who still throws temper tantrums.
Considering I had a rolling tantrum on my closet this morning because I. have. NOTHING. to. wear! your timing is absolutely wonderful.
I'm so much happier now.
I'm sorry about the bruise 'though... at least you didn't slip in a puddle and bruise the sitting end. There are small blessings.
Karen
I forgot to mention my one overwhelming philosophy on life.
It washes.
Whatever IT is, it washes.
Karen
Oh, dear. Poor Diana. I can just imagine you limping around, glaring at that evil floor. Stupid floor.
Remember, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing with you. Because, if you're not laughing yet, you will be. Someday. Hopefully.
Karen- I'm so glad I'm not the only one to do this sort of thing. And, yes, the kitchen floor does wash. The living room carpet does as well, just not as well. Can't wait until we can rip it up and put in wood floor. Someday.
Dana- Yes, yes. WITH me. I'm sure. Trust me, though, I am laughing AT me. As are the floor and the dog.
I'm more a "thrower" than a "stomper"- but both are risky.
Oh, ow! ow! ow!
I throw temper tantrums, too. I kicked a Fortran textbook once, in the midst of a full-blown snit about a program that wasn't compiling properly, and I had to wear sandals for weeks after that, I did such a number on my toe.
Stacy- See, if I came from less Puritanical stock, I'd throw. Stomping rarely hurts anything but yourself. Oh, wait. Sometimes I slap, (the hand equivalent of stomping) but only hard things, like counters and doors.
Teri- OW! back at you. Kicking is definitely more risky than stomping. At least I can wear shoes.
OUCH!! Lesson learned, I guess. I could never have a dog, or really any "pet". The "pools o' piss" would surely push me over the edge, not to mention the shedding, drooling, picking up dog-do when going for a walk, etc. nope, couldn't do it.
I'm telling you, the cat made her do it (just ask her).
And, umm, haha.
And, umm, don't you HATE it when you do something buck-assed-stupid and get what you deserve and have no one but yourself to be ticked off at (well, okay, and a dog)?
(note to Diana: wear cushy shoes for next tantrum)
Oh I throw them plenty as well. Even stomp my foot at times. Very becoming for my age.
Three words for you: The Dog Whisperer. Rent DVD NOW!!!
That is a brilliantly vivid description.
Interesting to find out how people vent when they lose it.
I tend to shout FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!!!! and clench my fists and jaw.
I do not envy you your pee-mopping ordeal.
I usually end up door-slamming. Or taking it out on innocent inanimate objects. Usually the fucking can opener which is a piece of shit I don't care WHAT they say. It should not take twenty minutes to open a god damned can. Which means it's a piece of shit and DESERVES to be slammed into the counter. Violently.
NOR do I care for the Garfield comic re the can opener on the fridge with my name written in over Jon's. Which was NOT put there by me, but by my cruel and ungrateful sibling and equally cruel mother, who buys shoddy appliances and then blames ME for NOT being able to *use* them properly.
{You will note how I gloss over the fact that this behavior normally escalates from bad to worse once a month. Because then I would have to deny the existence of the letters P, M, and S in the alphabet. And would have to concede that my endearing smartass charm somewhat withers when I viciously attack and assail kitchen appliances. And plates. Ahem}
Hope the heel is feeling better LOL
Oh! Ouch! It's always so frustrating to deal with behaviors you're trying to "stomp out" in pets. I'm sorry for the pee and sorry about your ankle. I hope it feels better soon.
Colleen- Good thing the pooch is cute, eh? One of the myriad of lovely things about living on a very large parcel of land waaaaay out in the country is that she can poop wherever she wants. She fortuntately only drools when you are about to offer a particularly tasty treat and, well that leaves the shedding. We just won't discuss the shedding of a double coated German Shepherd Dog in the Wisconsin summer, will we. It might drive me to drink. More. A dog in town is a different matter, of course.
Christie- You know? I saw Evil Kitty whispering to Evil Dog just before...Lord, but I'm slow on the uptake. Yes. I particularly hate it when I get all undignified and throw a full blown snit and get dinged for it. Damn.
Johnny- Done and done. 'Dog Whisperer' ordered and booted to the top of my Netflix queue. Should start getting it in a week or so. I rarely throw, and only something that I won't regret. Damn Puritan ancesters. Puts a cramp in an otherwise good fury.
Rozanne- The cat is certainly my favorite pet at this point. What is eating a few fronds when compared to the pee factor. That and the 'mouthing' of my limbs. Won't be sad to see the puppy stage go. Wish I could scream "FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!" but the small-handed ones were, well, handy. Colin's eyes were saucer-big as it was. *sigh*
Babs- I used to door slam but we have so few doors in this place that it's not the same to go off in search of one. The garage door is there but then flies would fly in. We have enough flies in the house as it is... Sorry about your can opener. Cheap-assed appliances suck. Always. Sometimes the expensive ones suck too, it's just that you have a fighting chance with them. Oh, and the 'time of the month' has nothing to do with it. Sheer coincidence. Really. Otherwise I'd have to admit those 3 letters, too, and we just don't do that. Ahem. Spare feminine hygene product, anyone?
Beth- Oooommmmm. sheisslowlygrowingoutofitooooommmm. At least that's what we tell ourselves. Ooooommmmmm.
I feel that frustration, boy oh boy! My mom's younger dog pees whenever I so much as lean over it in a friendly way. I am a dog-lovin' person, so it is almost impossible to remember "Don't lean." Gaaaaahhhh!
When I have a tantrum, I cry. Not very effective, because my weeny girliness just makes me MADDER. Grrrrrrrr
Somehow, I'm thanking my cats for just knowing how to do that litter thing instinctively! We did have a cat that was neurotic and used to barf quite regularly on the rug....my husband would have a tantrum then!
Jamie- Crying's the worst. Sometimes I do that. Hate it worse than anything.
Ruth- We had a neurotic barfing cat, too, who caused endless grief to my poor mom. She would purposefully spew down the front room heat vents. Nasty!
A vicious cycle, to be sure! Poor puppy dog... hopefully she will cease her nervous peeing soon. Would you like me to ask my father about whether there's something to be done for it? I'll do it anyway. :)
Just got back from the waterpark and it was HOT. The cats are so thrilled with my cousin that I think they're going to ask if they can go back to Jersey with her and start a new life there...
Oh, also, regarding temper tantrums: the last time I threw one, I was getting out of the car and slammed the door on my hand. Really Hard. It was OUTRAGEOUSLY painful and also two of my nails turned black and fell off.
But, yeah, I still WANT to throw them all the time. Especially when I am waiting for a freaking law firm to get back to me and they have failed to do so!
Oh, yes! See if your dad has any thoughts. We are also seeing what the astounding Cesar Millan has to say about it (DVDs coming and a trip to the bookstore on the docket). Such flummoxing creatures dogs are.
Maybe I need to slam my hand in the car door during my next tantrum. Bet that would be the last of them.
Rant away, Diana, I'd be swearing like a sailor if I were you. I've been known to throw a tantrum now and then and let me assure you, PMS tantruming (is that a word?)has nothing on the seismic tantrums of menopause....something to look forward to.
Must have been a great smell when the heat came on!
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