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SC humor me
Smash now and forever hold your peace I WAS JUST READING
about a mom in Florida who directed her teenage daughter to attack a couple of people with a machete. Yeah, a machete. As conflict resolution goes, this strategy isn’t ideal, particularly if you don’t own a machete and have to wait two days for Amazon to deliver one. (Don’t worry. After the assault, you can use it to split coconuts.) Of course, this woman is officially nuts. And she lives in Florida, where there seem to be more nuts per capita than here in the pollen-crusted, semi-whacky Carolinas. Still, it would be nice to know what drives your ordinary, cookie-baking mom over sanity’s edge. There should be an early warning system to tell us whose screws are loose before they start screaming obscenities in yoga class. No wait, that’s a thing. They call it Rage Yoga. Some of us aren’t zen enough to blend in a traditional yoga studio, a monastic room where triple-jointed contortionists chant “om” while the head pretzel directs in hushed, reverent tones. They’ll recognize an oddball in their midst before you can say “namaste.” That wasn’t Lindsay Istace’s cup of organic chamomile tea, so she devised Rage Yoga—a style for “other like-minded weirdos,” according to her website, RageYoga.com. When you need a release, feel free to stretch, scream, swear, and sip beer from your water bottle. Let it all hang out. (If your leggings have less than 8% Spandex, it probably will.) I doubt all the yoga in the world would have freed the machete mom 38
Even the most civilized, patient people grow weary of playing nice and taking a timeout when we’d rather pound our chests and bellow like Tarzan. from her demons. Maybe she should have tried a rage room, where you can destroy inanimate enemies without doing jail time. Let’s face it. We live in an annoying world. Even the most civilized, patient people grow weary of playing nice and taking a timeout when we’d rather pound our chests and bellow like Tarzan. We want to swing from the nearest vine, but there are no jungles off I-95, so rage rooms are the next best thing. They’re a safe place for grown-ups to throw a therapeutic tantrum. You can spend 20 minutes destroying dishes with a crowbar or bring your
SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING | MARCH 2020 | SCLIVING.COOP
peeps to smash a roomful of TVs and uncooperative printers with baseball bats. They supply the weapons and protective gear; you supply the rage. Some places even offer a post- carnage massage. For those who lean more passive than aggressive, a crying room might help. There are hotels in Japan that offer sappy movies, bubble baths, warm blankets and all the tissues a sobbing maiden requires. Japanese people aren’t frivolous with their emotions, so this might be their version of sledgehammering a photo of their ex in a rage room. Americans will probably stick with smashing stuff. For now, we should probably assume that everyone we meet is a walking pressure cooker with a loose lid. It would be nice if their eyes flashed yellow warning lights before the crazy erupts, but you can’t count on that. We should probably charter a bus for the nearest rage room before it’s too late. Before a spouse reloads the dishwasher like it’s an abstract sculpture. Before somebody sends a three-page text in ALL CAPS with no punctuation. Before Harry and Meghan’s next burp goes viral. Before somebody’s kid mistakes you for a coconut. Until the bus comes, breathe deep. Count to 10. And hide the machete. is pretty mellow unless she encounters a pistachio nut that won’t open. Then it’s sledgehammer time! You can always vent at HumorMe@SCLiving.com. It’s good for you.
JAN A. IGOE
