Road Rage

In a week that has seen some fairly monumentual emotional highs and lows, it should not be unexpected to discover that my patience might be a little thin on the ground.
I honestly baffle myself sometimes ,with my own stoicism in moments of extreme stress, by holding it together when all the dung in the neighbourhood seems to have hit my proverbial fan. Yet one, tiny thing can then trip a detonation of a size that is so completely out of proportion, with the crime, that when the storm dies down I 'm awash with remorse.
I dealt with the Rentokil on Monday with serenity, even when the man informed me that the four-legged fiends had probably died inside the walls because there was "no where to escape to". Tuesday's meeting with the Local Education Authority, where I had to beg them to find DS2 a Special Needs School was accomplished without tears or shouting.
I was dignified during the meeting with the Divorce Lawyer; not willing to concede that my financial settlement should in some way compensate me for having two children with special needs.
I even remained composed when SH phoned to exchange details of Lawyers but ended up with a free counselling session because I m too damn nice to put the phone down.
But then, after a long day at work on Thursday, someone stole my parking space.
You know the scenario; you have sat patiently flashing your indicator whilst a geriatric in a Skoda painfully completes his reverse out of the only parking space, outside the local Co Op.
It's five a clock and you've popped out to buy a loaf of bread and a pint of milk and the whole mission can surely be accomplished in five minutes flat with the wind in the right direction?
Then just as the space becomes clear, a Boy Racer in a sup ed up Ford Escort with a double exhaust, pumping fumes out the back, appears from no where screeches into my space?
The red mist descended. Instead of rolling my eyes to the ceiling and patiently waiting for the next space, I slam on the accelerator and grind to a halt inches from his bumper. Leaping out like Miss Piggy with Tourettes; I enquired VERY loudly, as Da Yoof climbs out of the driver's seat hitching up his jeans; if he was suddenly bereft of 20:20 vision? Was he also mentally deficient and of illegitimate parentage? He stared at me, bemused at the spectacle of a middle age woman in Ugg boots, waving her arms hysterically like the Essex relative of a Tasmanian Devil. His inarticulate response was that he didn't know I was waiting for the space. For some reason his total lack of concern or remorse added fuel to the fire and perhaps the fact that he laughed and asked "what are you going to do about it ...lift the car outta the way" was not the best decision he had made thus far in 2010.
So I parked. Behind his car. Blocking him in. For 15 minutes.
Cranking Radio 4 to full volume and turning off the headlights, I settled down to read the Daily Mail. He bought his fags and came out and banged on the window asking what in the name of fornication was I doing. I didn't wind the window down, but replied that I was parked?
"But I wanna go!" came the response to which I replied that I "didn't know that when I parked and what was he going to do about it? Lift my car out of the way?"
So we sat in my juvenile stand off.,for about 15 minutes with him crashing around the outside of my car like a Rhino on heat.
After a while, when the red mist had subsided ,I switched on the engine and drove off leaving a small open- mouthed crowd in my wake.
I hadn't won and the loss of self control wasn't pretty but I felt SO much better. So to summarise:

Monday's Mum has big rats to chase
Tuesday's Mum tries to find a school place
Wednesday's Mum gives the Lawyer "Green to go"
Thursday's Mum has a gasket 'bout to blow
Friday's Mum thinks her patience is giving
Saturday's Mum seeks the Meaning of living
but a long lie-in bed on the Sabbath Day, means this Mum will bounce back to fight another Day!