My parents were generally quite placid people, especially my Mum - it was Dad who had more of the sense of adventure whilst Mum was the home maker, and he sometimes verged into being a bit of a likeable rogue. BUT, my Mum did have her limits, and this is one example.
We were living in Malta and I was probably just a toddler when this happened - but the tale was related more than once over the years, generally if Dad was pushing his luck a bit :) Despite the heat, Mum was a traditionalist and always cooked a Sunday roast - Dad was also a traditionalist and liked to nip down to the Mess for a pre-lunch pint with his buddies. One particular Sunday (I suspect I was grizzling or going through the 'Terrible Twos' phase) Mum objected to being left to cook lunch and cope with me at the same time whilst Dad quaffed a pint or two then sauntered back home to lunch followed by a nice snooze. He dug his heels in and Mum did too - soon they were in the throes of a heated argument as Mum was beginning to get pots and pans ready for a roast beef lunch.
Suddenly, and without any warning, I think a sort of 'red rag to a bull madness' came over Mum and she lost the plot totally. She happened to be holding a large empty roasting tin at the time:
I suspect he didn't enjoy his pint or two or the huge lump that had now appeared on the top of his head but it was now a matter of pride. He returned home to find my Mum sobbing her heart out in the kitchen. Thinking that he'd been rather a 'cad', remorse overcame Dad and he hugged her and apologised. Mum's reaction though wasn't quite what he expected - the tears got worse - then she opened the oven door and cried 'Look what you did to the joint of beef!!'.
Sitting there jauntily, in the roasting pan on top of a large bowl shaped hump in the centre was the Sunday joint - merrily overcooking and enjoying the 'mountain experience'.
That really must have been one BIG wallop to dent an old fashioned roasting tin :)