I've got a hot button. My dad passed it down to all four of us kids. We all work hard to stay in standby mode, but it's still not a good idea to spring crappy surprises on us.
The last time my younger brother's got pushed, he finally told off his wife, and ended up divorced.
Used to be when my second brother got his pushed, he'd go looking for a fight. Sometimes he net vans full of equally amped-up young men. With straight razors. He managed to get his ear stitched back onto his head last time. He's more careful nowadays.
The one member of our quartet you really don't want to upset ais my oldest brother Chet. Best example: While waiting with me at the LAX airport curb to pick up Seymour, a college kid in his dad's Mercedes sedan pulled up and boxed us in. My brother told the kid to move the car, but the kid brushed Chet off and ran into the airport. Seymour arrived shortly afterwards and wondered why smoke was pouring from Chet's ears. The kid eventually returned with a buddy, and got a ration from Chet. The kid spat out an apology, and jumped into the car. Fine, whatever. But, as they pulled away, the buddy leaned out and flipped us off. Ohhh...bad move. My brother--on foot--caught up with them, and open-hand slammed their windshield so hard that everyone within 50 yards jumped. I am sure both Mercedes seats were soaked, instantly.
(Seymour and I had only been dating a few months at the time of the airport incident. I like to think that my partner's uxoriousness is rooted in love, but realistically there has to be a major fear component. Chet is an Army Ranger, and always informed my suitors about the 20 ways he could kill them with his bare hands.)
Anyhow, the last time mine got pushed was this past Friday, when I got cut off by a loser driver. She tore through the intersection I was entering like a crazy woman, cutting me off so badly that everything in the car wobbled. Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt as we live near both an asylum and a hospital. Next I buried my insta-prejudices against women who wear ugly belted sweater jackets. However, she not only made my brakes squeal and gave me whiplash, but she waved me off as she did it--as though I was at fault for observing traffic laws.
I tailed her. She drove like a demon down one of our winding local roads, then hopped out--not at the hospital, but at the coffee shop. Cel phone sprouting from her ear, natch. Thankfully Iz said "Mommy, why are we here? Today isn't a coffee day," and snapped me out of it. Oh, that's right. Kids in the car. Setting an example. Fuck fuck fuck.