Anatomy of a Rant

Interesting thing about ranting. Your wife, God bless her, listens for at least two whole minutes before her eyes begin to glaze over. Her lack of rapt attention pulls the plug on your need to vent, and you sputter out, mumbling some closing argument to your brilliant observations before you slink off to imagine yourself kicking the dog, which thank God, you have no intention of doing.
It will probably take another twenty seven hours, easy, before the valve in your head wonders back into the red zone. In the meantime all is right within the four walls of your abode, if not the world.