Rage Against the Machine

Whoa, nelly.  What did you do with my mild-mannered wife?

Look here child, I rely on this woman to keep me sane.  I rely on her to tell me not to honk at strangers and to chide me when I’m huffing at the person in front of us in line.  While you’ll soon see that she likes to cheer me on when I speed, for the most part Vegas, she is a perfectly reasonable person.

A perfectly. reasonable. person.

Vegas, you have done something to your mother to cause her to randomly erupt in fountains of unsurpassed hostility.  She turns her baleful glare on everyone who so much as moves too slowly, steps too closely or, in fact, moves without permission.  While she is still a sainted picture of serenity and goodwill to me, she has turned into a fiery basilisk to everyone else.

Vegas, your mother is usually a font of good-humored patience.  But I don’t suggest you test her right now.  In fact, stop your fluttering this second.

Don’t make me come down there.

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