Low Tolerance

Don't you ever just say something completely off the grid, on the spur of the moment, when an emotion is fresh?
I do it all the time.
I most certainly hope that it doesn't make me a bad person for all time, but I am forced to admit that at least in brief doses I am just as intolerant and ugly as anyone else.
For example, I opened the refrigerator just now, saw that I would have to buy groceries if I ever wanted to eat anything more for dinner than the same lasagna I had made last night, and exclaimed, "Oh, My God, my life sucks! I want to die!"
Not remotely true.
So why is that the first thing that pops out of my mouth?
Is there an angry, petty, suicidal little person somewhere inside who actually cannot tolerate buying groceries a moment longer?
I think not.
But there's definitely something going on in there of which I am not entirely aware.

Another example. I'm substitute teaching at a school that considers themselves "Paper Free."
To the eyes of a temporary guest, this means that everyone has their laptops and phones out, the "lesson plan" is most likely for them to go online and "watch a Power Point," and your mission, should you choose to accept it, is merely to maintain order.
For some reason, this particular class brings back every unpleasant memory I ever had from high school.
I note that students still talk about all the same things that I could barely tolerate then.
Gossip.
Clothes.
Hair.
Boys.
Who did what that was stupid.
How I am really proud of myself for doing something even more stupid than that.
I am just as bored of it all as I was my senior year of high school - Perhaps more so, because it's grating on my nerves so badly that I don't even know if I can remain long enough to accept money for this treat.
One student brazenly decides that she can't study her Power Point without trying to blast her music for the benefit of the class.

Well the boys 'round here don't listen to The Beatles
Run ole Bocephus through a jukebox needle
At a honky-tonk, where their boots stomp
All night; what? (That's right)
Yea, and what they call work, digging in the dirt
Gotta get it in the ground 'fore the rain come down
To get paid, to get the girl
In your 4 wheel drive (A country boy can survive)

Yea the boys 'round here
Drinking that ice cold beer
Talkin' 'bout girls, talkin' 'bout trucks
Runnin' them red dirt roads out, kicking up dust
The boys 'round here
Sending up a prayer to the man upstairs
Backwoods legit, don't take no sh*t
Chew tobacco, chew tobacco, chew tobacco, spit...

"Do you have headphones?" I ask coolly.
Nod.
"Then use them."

Later, a student comes and asks me why I "hate country music."
Now, I meant to say something reasonable, like "I don't hate all country music - only the songs that fail to stimulate my lymbic system and to challenge the status quo of this ill-fated microcosm of society."
But, no-oh-oh, completely off the grid, on the spur of the moment, when the emotion was fresh, I blurted out, "Because I have an I.Q."
Now, why did I, the woman who has Patsy Cline's Crazy memorized and loves listening to Johnny Cash when she's in the right mood, just insult the intelligence of two out of five people in our entire population?
Is there an angry, rural-hating intellectual snob inside whose I.Q. literally drops every time someone plays a repetitive, unoriginal, ignorant set of lyrics?

Why yes; yes there is.
Because Music is where I draw the line.

That, and possibly tacos.