Go break a few eggs

I was so mad at someone I wanted to throw the fragile china and glasses against a brick wall. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew I’d have to clean up the mess afterwards and I wasn’t that mad.
But after a day of preparing for a visit from that same person, I just had to do something. I had grumbled all day as I dusted furniture, cleaned counters, vacuumed carpet and replaced burnt out light bulbs. The house was ready but I wasn’t.
I took my collection of dead light bulbs and marched outside ready to smash the fragile glass spheres against the concrete drive. Holding a light bulb over my head I stopped. I thought about sweeping the entire drive to insure I had all the glass shards. I laid the bulbs on the grass, set the opened sack on the driveway and whacked a bulb into the sack anticipating the sound of glass breaking.
It didn’t break. It bounced. The sack had cushioned the impact.
I stomped around the back of the house where we kept a few bricks, grabbed one, carried it out front and dropped it in the paper bag. The next light bulb I whacked into the sack smashed quite satisfactorily. It was very satisfying if very controlled way to lose my cool.
My friend also encountered an enraging unchangeable aspect of her life. But she was much bolder. When she got mad enough to throw something she let things fly. When she was in a tossing mood, she three eggs by the dozens, right smack dab at the middle of her refrigerator door. She created a slimy gooey mess that dripped down the front of the appliance.
Once her rage was spent she had a ghastly mess to clean up. And she didn’t mind one bit. As she said, “It was fantastic. I threw a few dishes, too but the eggs were the best thing.”
She had several, solitary egg smashing sessions as she worked through her rage with her life’s irrevocable reality. One afternoon as she angrily smashed eggs against the refrigerator her son came home and saw her.
He stood in the doorway, stunned, staring at the slimed refrigerator and his mother’s determined face. She hefted another egg in her hand ready to hurl it across the room. Speechless he watched her lob the egg against the refrigerator. Yellow slime and egg shell chips slid down the length of the door to join the pool of slime on the floor.
He tiptoed out of the house to find his dad.
“Dad, Mom is throwing eggs at the refrigerator.”
His father sighed, “I know. She is very frustrated with someone who hurt her very badly and she can’t do anything about it.”
The son gave his father a puzzled look, shrugged and decided this was one time to just ignore both parents.
He almost managed, too but later that week his mom said, “We are all out of eggs. Would you run by the store and buy a couple dozen?”
He took the cash she handed him. Pocketed it, turned to his mom and asked, “uhhh Mom, are these eggs for eating or throwing?”
She just laughed and told him to go buy the eggs time would tell.