Cathy and I were in the first or second year of our marriage (I think Lincoln was still President) when she got a major example of one of my anger implosions. You see, some people get angry by exploding. I get angry more spiritually (wink). I implode. Sometimes exceedingly.
Here's the situation. I was at at my office where I worked on a church staff in the Monterey, California area. A one-car-family (just the two of us), I rode my bicycle to the office most days. On this particular day, Cathy drove our car to Monterey Peninsula College for a class.
In the midst of my highly important schedule, my sweet little wife (the one who drove our only car) calls to tell me that she accidentally locked the keys in the car. I had to stop what I was doing and ask our Pastor if I could borrow his car to go rescue her.
Upon arrival, I borrowed a hanger, bent it to an appropriate angle and pulled the lock up. It was a 1968 Ford Galaxy 500 two-door hardtop -- probably worth a mint now -- and breaking in was easy enough that even I could do it. With steam wisping up from my ears. Cathy doesn't think I said a single word to her the entire time I was there.
When I arrived home that evening, I made it clear to Cathy that she had been careless. I know I belittled her. I didn't care.
I took the car the next morning. I had a class at the college. I wasn't angry anymore when I arrived, but I fully remembered the day before as I pulled into the same parking lot.
It was an early class and I was a bit early arriving. The morning was cool and it was quiet so I sat there in the car and did some last-minute studying. A few minutes later, it was time to go so I jumped out of the car and carefully locked and shut the door.
As I turned to walk away, I realized the keys were still in the ignition.