Here's the story, my boyfriend crashed my car into a snowbank and I wasn't pissed. Well, I was pissed but not PISSED where I yelled at him. I didn't cry or spazz at him, but he could tell that I was really restraining a lot of emotion when he spoke to me.
Next day, he knocks over one of my self-made sculpey figurines. It broke. I blew it. I was in tears, I was giving him a cold shoulder, etc. Aka: I was PISSED. Two years ago, I made a dinner set out of clay, and my mom broke it. I was equally as pissed as when my bf broke my figurine. My bf asked why I was pissed about the figurine and not the car. I told them that when an artist sees her wo