We finally moved into the house we bought two months ago, and, as a type of inauguration thing, I broke one of the doors off its hinges while stuffing a large recliner through a doorway. Sometimes, when I'm moving, the clutter and the disorganization just really gets to me, and I do irrational things. So, Shannon was gone, the kids were upstairs playing, and I was dead set on getting this huge recliner from the living room, down the hall, through a small doorway, and into a bedroom where there really isn't space for it, all by myself.
After a lot of grunting and huffing, I had the chair almost into the room. It was just slightly too wide to fit through the doorway though, regardless of how you rotated it -- and I tried all possible permutations, being somewhat of a Tetris-whiz. Finally, tired, sore, frustrated, and irrational, I backed myself up into the room across the hall, assumed a linebacker stance, sprinted across the hall, lowered my shoulder, and plowed that freaking recliner into that freaking bedroom. Wussy chair never had a chance. I sacked it like it was some sissy quarterback like Tony Romo.
Explaining to Shannon why the door was splintered off its hinges required slightly less testosterone and slightly more contrition.