Tantrum

I just sit down to relax, book in hand, with a soda and a butterscotch krispie bar when I hear the most obnoxious noise calling out to me. It grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard and I want to ignore it but it is insistent and seems to grow louder and louder by the minute. I try hard to concentrate on my book, but with every screech I grow tense and I am beginning to get angry. Why can't it just shut up and leave me alone? Can't I sit here for a while, uninterrupted, and take a break from painting? Like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, it screams out from down the hall then waits for my response. When I don't give in it screams again and again. By now my mood is surly and I arise in a huff. I march down the hall and fling open the door, clothes hanger in hand, fuming. The room goes silent instantly. I reach in and grab a sleeve and pull roughly. "There, are you satisfied?" I slam the door closed and the howling starts anew. I open the door again and grab a leg, jerking rather violently. It quiets for a second or two but incredibly the wailing begins again. How stupid can it be? Does it not know how angry I am? Over and over I reach in, grabbing a neck or a waist or an arm, until it is finally drained and all goes quiet. Just for good measure, I reach up and punch it. It remains still and defeated. I return to my chair, pick up my book and resume reading, trying to calm myself down. I hate that damn dryer and its buzzer with a vengence!