The Amazing Exploding Girl

A few days ago, I lost the document I had been working on.  This caused me to erupt into a delirious rage.  The librarian, also a woman, caught site of my display and embarked on a frenzied but futile campaign to retrieve the file.  There was no use, it was gone.

 

By the time I got home, the initial shock had given way to a deafening racket.

‘What the f**k are you gonna do now?’  Jeered my brain.  ‘You’ll have to start that piece all over again!  You’ll never get it done in time!’

I felt like a piece had been pulled from the Jenga stack of my mind.  It was chaos in there.

So, as I’m sure you can imagine, I was none too pleased when my frenzy was met at the door by Tom’s suggestion to ‘Calm down Katie!’

‘HOW COULD I POSSIBLY CALM DOWN!’  I hurled, and then screamed a bunch of other stuff that I don’t want to recount.  And I threw a paper cup.

Tom stood, stunned, until I did begin to calm down in earnest.  At that point I noticed the water all over the floor and felt a touch embarrassed.  But it was his fault!

In what universe were men taught that a great way to respond to a woman in a blind panic is to request that she calm down?  Why won’t they learn it DOESN’T WORK?  It’s a horrible, destructive thing to do because it causes women (me) to lose all control at the thought that you are not taking their Very Big Problem seriously!

If there is anyone out there who, having been instructed by their significant other to calm down, instantly assumes serenity and then says ‘Thanks for the advice, honey!’  I would really like to hear from them.  

I will commend Tom only on the fact that he doesn’t take the bait.  He waits for the fury to subside, and then commences making suggestions.  

‘Did you back it up somewhere?’

‘No!’

‘Did you search the computer?’

‘Yes!’

‘Have you emailed it to someone?’

I had.  As the memory hit me, the mental racket silenced as quickly as it had begun.  I had sent it to mum.

Tom looked very pleased with himself.  I didn’t want to thank him because that would be admitting that I was a neurotic moron.  I said it very quietly, then made to escape.  But Tom was too quick.

‘If you hadn’t gotten yourself into such a state you would have figured that out yourself.’ 

Bravo, sir, bravo. 

I get it.  I get that us chicks would do much better to remain perfectly relaxed when faced with a life crisis.  This would allow us the use of our shiniest problem solving tool kit.  But the truth is, aside from the residual shame, I feel pretty damn good after chucking a hissy fit.  Calm, you might even say.