All's Not Quiet On The Home Front

People in my family don't die of heart attacks. We don't get ulcers. We almost never go off the deep end as a result of years of pent-up rage. Why? Because we come from a long line of screamers and yellers. When things happen, we don't just stand there looking all wide-eyed and shocked or hurt or mad (whatever the particular situation calls for). We seldom cry. We just commence to yelling. And by God we don't stop 'til it's all out of our systems. Once that valve has opened, trust me, there's no shutting it off until aaaaallllll the steam has been released. And then we're done. One minute we can be yelling at the top of our lungs, the next minute we are calm and cool as cucumbers. People who are close to us have either learned to accept it and tune out the tirades, knowing they won't last long...OR...they NEVER accept it and they think they can change that particular "quality" about us. Ron's been trying to get me to stop yelling since the day we got married. It'll never happen. In the face of a crisis, my first reaction will always be to yell. When something or someone pisses me off, I'm gonna raise my voice, the loudness of which is always in direct proportion to how upset I am. Why can't he just accept that? Take yesterday, for example.
On the way into the upstairs bathroom, Ron noticed the carpet was wet, and then when he stepped into the bathroom, he found himself standing in about an inch of water. It was only after the fact that he informed me that there had been this water and (this is still hard for me to say) that he had used my Dyson vacuum cleaner - the one that I still consider new because I've had it for less than two years and the one that I still love because it's the best vacuum cleaner that I've ever owned - he had used it to VACUUM UP THE STANDING WATER in the bathroom. Mother of God, I wanted to KILL HIM. And he got mad at me for yelling, when yelling was the least lethal weapon I could use. I mean, he does something really, really stupid, then he expects me to be calm and sweet about it? Not gonna happen. I'm gonna yell.
I'm all: "Are you insane? You've ruined my fucking vacuum cleaner!"
He's all, trying to be calm, but getting madder and madder: "Why do you have to yell?"
Because that's me. I don't throw things. I don't hit or kick. I don't stab. I don't shoot. Hell, I don't even call him names. I just talk very, very loud, and maybe throw out a few godammits, fucks, and shits, 'til I feel better. That's what I do. If he wanted someone who would whisper, "Oh sweetheart, what have you done, you silly boy?", then he married the wrong damn person. And if I wanted someone who knew what the hell to do when the bathroom is flooded, then I guess I married the wrong damn person.