Rage Rooms Are All The Rage

My girlfriends and I meet frequently for support and gossip, but finding new places to hang out is hard. The struggle isn’t finding good food, it’s finding somewhere where we can let off a bit of steam without getting barred.

We found this one place, it’s a room full of old stuff. Like a hoarder’s house but without the cats. Honestly, rage rooms are better than a spa day – I worked up a sweat, my skin was glowing, and the emotional release was like a deep-tissue massage… except I was in a boiler suit swinging a sledgehammer.

Honestly, rage rooms are better than a spa day.

I left thinking, “Wow. This is self-care.”

I’m actually now thinking of building one at home for my health. We’ve talked about a home renovation – although I wouldn’t want to smash my own stuff. No, I’ll be using my husband’s collection of vintage bikes. They’ve been there for ten years and he keeps promising to fix them up.

I’m worried the neighbours might wonder what I’m doing though. I mean bin day has always been awkward in our neighbourhood watch area, but imagine trying to dispose of 60 pounds of twisted iron. They won’t think I’m a serial killer – no body, just a woman with a very upset husband.