A young girl who was writing a paper for school came to her father and asked: "Dad, what is the difference between anger and exasperation?" The father replied: "It is

A young girl who was writing a paper for school came to her father and asked: "Dad, what is the difference between anger and exasperation?" The father replied: "It is..."

...a matter of how many times I've had to explain the same thing to you!"

The father, a man named George who was currently attempting to assemble a notoriously complex piece of flat-pack furniture (with instructions that seemed to have been translated from ancient hieroglyphs by a very confused pigeon), paused, a tiny screw clutched precariously between two fingers. His daughter, Lily, who was eight, looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, pen poised over her notebook.

"Hmm," George mused, carefully placing the screw into a small bowl with several dozen other identical screws. "That's a good question, sweet pea. Let me demonstrate."

He picked up the instruction manual, a thick booklet filled with tiny diagrams that looked like abstract art. "Now, if I try to attach part A to part B, and the diagram clearly shows it goes this way," he said, gesturing emphatically, "but for the fifth time, it only seems to fit that way, despite all logic and the very laws of physics... that, my dear, is anger." He slammed the manual down with a definitive thwack. "It's a sudden, fiery outburst! A primal scream at the injustice of furniture design!"

Lily giggled, scribbling furiously. "Got it! Anger: primal scream at injustice!"

"Precisely!" George beamed, momentarily forgetting his struggle. "But now," he continued, picking up a hammer and then putting it down, seeing it was clearly the wrong tool. "If I then pick up part C, which the diagram indicates should somehow magically float into place and secure itself with a peg that doesn't exist, and I spend the next hour trying every single other piece in the box, re-reading the same page, turning the manual upside down, and even trying to assemble it with my eyes closed hoping for a miracle..."

He paused, a vein visibly throbbing in his temple. "And then, I remember that just yesterday, your mother pointed out that this particular manufacturer always puts the crucial, invisible peg in a separate, unmarked plastic bag, which I then proceeded to throw out with the packaging... that, my dear Lily, is exasperation."

George leaned back, a look of profound weariness on his face. "It's not a sudden burst, you see. It's a slow, creeping realization of utter futility! It's the quiet despair that comes from repeating the same frustrating actions, knowing full well you're making no progress, and possibly making things worse, all because of one tiny, absent piece!" He pointed a shaky finger at the empty spot where the mythical peg should have been. "It's the feeling you get when you want to scream, but you're too tired to even open your mouth!"

Lily finished writing, a look of profound understanding on her face. "So, anger is loud and fast, and exasperation is quiet and... when you want to give up?"

George nodded solemnly. "Exactly! Now," he said, picking up the manual again, "if you'll excuse me, I think I just saw a tiny, almost invisible arrow pointing to a missing piece on page seven, diagram four, in a sub-section no human eye can naturally detect. Wish me luck. I'm going back in." He sighed dramatically. "And if you hear a very, very quiet whimper in about ten minutes, you'll know which one I've reached."