Street work is going on outside our house. Evidently the lifespan of a suburban street built by the contractor's son-in-law is about 30 years. We got the note in the mailbox that in four days our stretch of the nepo-street is to be re-poured, and we cant use our driveway. So we must park on the street, thus our in-home electric vehicle charging station will also be inaccessible.
This one tick of stress kicked Gary up over his stress horizon and he was out of control, stomping around the house, escalating.
"THEY WANT US TO PARK ON THE STREET SO THEY CAN DROP GRAVEL ALL OVER MY NEW CAR AND IF WE DON'T MOVE OUR CARS OUT OF THE GARAGE IMMEDIATELY ALL THE SPOTS WILL BE GONE."
I told him I didn't have time for this, shut the door, and ignored him until he came back in completely calm.
"I PARKED MY CAR IN THE Street ... And ... I feel better."
I pointed out he had places to go in the next four days, and he said he knew that, he knew it was irrational, but he felt total peace now.
So I suppose that's the trick. I always try to reason with him, but really I just need to wait until he invents whatever personal stress placebo he needs.