Wielding a sledgehammer over my head before whacking it into the dehumidifier with all my might, I think about how the machine broke within months of its warranty, leaving damp laundry that it was supposed to help dry.My mind flits to the fact I’m on my fifth load of washing this week, and I whack it even harder. Not that my children have noticed, as they think their clothes teleport from bathroom floor to wardrobe. Whack. Because in addition to working full-time, I’m the one expected to keep the house tidy. Whack. Whack. Whack.Shards of plastic go flying and my heart pounds in exhilarated, illicit triumph. I’m not losing the plot at home, however, but in a ‘rage room’ — a designated space where you can pay to release pent-up anger by demolishing household objects.
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