Three or four months ago I wrote a post about how, because of the Bible verse that says Jesus was tempted in all things like we are, I thought that Jesus must have experienced at least a flash of menopausal hormones. I surmised that it might have been when he cleared the temple and overturned the tables of the moneychangers or when he told Peter to “Get behind me, Satan.”
I wrote this because I had recently, among other things, yelled at the two young men who came to my door with their magazine-selling scam. Much as I detest such interruptions, my behavior was way out of the norm for me. I figured I must be headed for early menopause.
But the other day, I tried to get a sheet of Cling Wrap off the roll, and one side of the wrap wouldn’t unwrap. Again and again I came up with a half sheet of useless, sticky, waste, until finally I turned and hurled the roll (minus its dangerous box) at the staircase wall. It was then that it occurred to me, “Gee, I wonder if nine months of steroid eardrops might be affecting me.”
Of course I went to the experts, my Facebook friends. Nine out of ten Facebook friends agreed: I had Roid Rage. Other than my friend who said that perimenopause caused her to rant at inanimate objects and my friend who thought that Cling Wrap was infuriating and my reaction to it made perfect sense, my friends thought that steroid drops could get through my skin and affect my mood. Could, and did.
Call me crazy, but I don’t think Jesus ever used steroids. So when he faced the Cling Wraps of his day (maybe a broken sandal strap?) he at least did it with only the normal amount of rage. That’s no excuse, though. Now I know what I am facing and can fight the good non-fight. And so, while I stand by my feelings and opinions, I would like to apologize for the severity of my response to the following: Cling Wrap, my daughter’s whining, Facebook friends’ criticism of the Obamas, Facebook friends’ criticism of anti-vacciners, neighboring city’s spraying weed killer by the road during commute time, Starbucks warming my chocolate croissant without asking, and mini corndogs falling on the floor.
The biggest problem with Roid Rage is that my goal is always for people to know that God loves them. If I didn’t have that goal, then why not curse at the truck who cut me off or the friend who spreads scary lies on Facebook? But it is my goal. So friends, just know that when I throw my car keys and yell “Kiss my butt,” what I really mean is “God loves you.”