I’m forty years old but only one or two people have ever seen me angry. I’m the picture of cool rationality almost all the time. Friends remark on how calm I am. My mother tells me that as a child, she never had any idea of when I was mad. When I was in marriage counseling, the therapist would try to get me to express anger. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. But, this morning, I lost it over a pair of shoes. And, when I say “lost it”, I mean I was screaming, throwing things, crying, and came “this close” to walking out, in the pouring rain, in 50 degree weather, IN MY BARE FEET.