Yesterday was different. I saw the familiar signs of an impending fist fight developing in slow motion, but unlike any other time I rushed to the scene to seperate the raging fighters. See normally I would not want to get soaked with men's sweat and risk catching an errant disfiguring blow to the face. God knows how long the waiting list for plastic surgeons is in this country. This time though, I felt safe. The reason I felt so secure about my ability to seperate the fighters cleanly was because the two men combined over 150 years of wisdom, age, and rage. The younger one, relatively speaking, did get on my nerves though when he reached for a wrench and wanted to "really hurt" the one that could barely walk. My "Bas Ya Wled, 3ayb" did nothing, neither did the warnings about the heart failure risk they face since their excitement level was much higher than it would ever get with that blue pill. But they did start gasping for air after a minute and withdrew back into their vehicles, or maybe it was my threat to go go Chapter 7 on their asses.
In any case, I'm confident they'll eventually outgrow this aggressive stage just like I'm confident that our Lebanese politicians will eventually do what is best for the country.