There are many things that happen when I’m on deadline.  Personal grooming falls by the wayside.  House becomes a pit.  Laundry breeds.  The slightest little noise–which might interrupt that magical kernal of dialogue that will unlock certain plot secrets–will cause me to rant and scream at whomever or whatever made the noise.  (Examples include the phone and dog.) 

But last night, I confess, was the first time that I’ve had Deadline Temper. 

What is that, you wonder?  It’s where the author freaks out and pitches a tantrum because her husband had the audacity to bring home a Burger King cheeseburger instead of the one from Jack’s like she’d asked him.  What is the difference between a Burger King burger and a Jack’s burger?  Last night they were WORLDS apart.  The author didn’t want a charbroiled burger.  She didn’t like Burger King’s fries.  She wanted a REAL burger from Jack’s and CRINKLE CUT fries, otherwise she wouldn’t have specified that her dinner come from JACK’S.

This morning a burger is a burger and she’s just as baffled at her behavior as her poor husband was last night.

“You’re almost finished with this one, aren’t you?” he’d asked after I’d calmed down.

“Yes.”

Longsuffering sigh.  “Thank God.”