DPD - Degenerative Patience Disorder

I was suppose to have my house ready to go on the market today. It's not. I'm shooting for Friday but who knows. This whole thing has my DPD acting up. DPD, or degenerative patience disorder, seems to be something that comes along when you near 40. I'll be 39 a week from today, and there will be plenty to say about that in the week ahead.

Bob has DPD bad. He's all kinds of eat up with it. There are certain things that really set it off. Kids running around after eating an entire box of valentines candy. Dogs staring at you, asking for something but you can't figure it out. That one really throws Bob into fits. He hates it when dogs stare at him. Dropping things, oh dear lawd the dropping of things. Don't get me started on those little baggies at the grocery store, I nearly had a meltdown today because I couldn't get the stupid opening apart to put limes in there. I dropped one and my head almost exploded. Our friend Trevor stubbed the tip of his toe on a highchair a couple of weeks ago and the cries of anguish could be heard as far as three counties away. To be fair, stubbing your toe hurts like a SOB. But I think that the thing that really, really makes me go ballistic has to be parking lots. Specifically the one at our local Walmart Supercenter. This deserves it's own entry one day soon. Let's just say that people really irritate me in parking lots.

There is no known cure for DPD, but there are ways to alleviate the symptoms. I've found that there are two in particular that have worked wonders for me. Xanax and Riesling. Never together, well maybe after a particular stressful day but very rarely. I'm tempted to carry around little shooters of Riesling, but there's that whole driving with the kids and needing to be sober thing. Blah blah blah.

So, as you get closer to 40, be on the look out for signs of DPD. When it happens to you, you'll know it. And so will anyone who happens upon your wrath.