Don’t know about you, but I am completely useless at fighting. Hopeless.
I once found a man in my house who had decided that if the door pushed open it must be because there was something inside that belonged to him. I got sufficiently hyped up on adrenaline and projectile swearing that he understood that I wanted him to leave and he got out of the door fairly sharpish. I do not want to think too hard about what might have happened if he had not decided to beat a retreat. I would have felt entirely better about the situation if I had had something vaguely weapon-ish to hand while I was shouting at him.
Don’t know, but I guess if I had to wallop someone while feeling that vulnerable, and by some astounding fluke they fell over, I would not have the courage and self-restraint to stop hitting them until they were quite clearly dead, to zombie movie standards of deadness, such that the head was completely detached and there was no possibility of them suddenly grabbing me by the ankle…
😯