Nature or Nurture?

Some days, I feel like I am becoming my father. (Please don't see this as an opportunity for stray thoughts about excessive body hair or other effects of testosterone. As a single woman during the holidays, it's not fair to kick a girl when she's down. I'm only speaking of behavioral attributes here.) At times, the sensation is subtle, like an inability to change the TV from a Dennis Quaid movie or ordering a vodka martini on the rocks with a twist when I thought I was going to have a cabernet only a few seconds before. And, other times, it's more oppressive - like today, when I found myself behind a particularly slow driver attempting to make a left hand turn from a stop sign onto a four-lane road screaming, "COME ON! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GROW SOME BALLS?!?!" while throwing my arms up in the air. I guess I should check back in with someone about my road rage issues.