K8 the GR8

I’m getting really tired of this bad rap us girlies have for driving.

The same thing always happens on the M50.  I’m cut off by a small car in the fast-lane who then piddles along in front of me with the rest of the world overtaking me on the inside.  TAT always orders me to flash, but I’m not your aggressive (or exhibitionist) type, so I usually make my presence felt in their driver’s mirror until they get the hint.  When the crawler finally moves back into the proper lane, TAT always says ‘Typical woman!’.  To which I usually reply ’Betcha it’s not!’,  and you know what? I’m usually right!  I’m making a fortune on these bets that it’ll be an old fart driving his missuz around with his nose glued to the steering wheel causing all the havoc.

See, I’m exceptionally bitter, because I’ve been in three pretty nasty car-crashes.

Whenever I impart this information to blokes, I usually get a strange ‘kyih!’ noise followed by rolling eyes.  Some especially cheeky chappies will make some crap joke about women drivers.  I then have to create a scene trying to convince them otherwise.  They usually shut up when I tell them that all three accidents were caused by blokes of various ages.

A male schoolteacher pulled out onto a busy road without seeing me to his right in 2000.  I crashed right into him at about 40mph.  That hurt.  Not as much as it hurt to lose the car though.

An affluent dad was focussing on his son in his back seat whilst driving a Volvo S40 Estate in 2003.  He rounded the corner of a quiet country road on the wrong side.  I was approaching the same corner in my Ford Estate at the same time with my pretty large doggie in the passenger’s side at about 35mph.  Head-on collisions REALLY hurt, but me and my doggie walked away relatively unscathed.

Last year, I was sandwiched between two Peugeot 206s.  I and my tank of a Volvo ended up at a 45 degree angle in a ditch.  That one was more funny than painful.  You should’ve seen the damage done to the car behind, driven by an 18 year old bloke who had aquaplained up my ass on a wet day!  I thought that might teach him a lesson, but apparently his mummy and daddy bought him a brand new car the week after. (He’s the boyfriend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend you see.  That’s how I know.)

As serendipity would have it, I used the winnings of the last two crashes to buy our present specially-adapted car for Sean and his wheelchair, so that worked out pretty spiffing.

It’s almost a pyrrhic victory though,  I had really bonded with those cars.  I use to talk to them, encourage them up hills, apologising for the weather, y’know?  Don’t tell me I’m alone.  You’ve all named your cars I bet.  To have them destroyed right before my eyes by a sex who think they’re great drivers just hurts.  It hurts real bad.

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So to all you blokes who think women are crap drivers;

If you want to see a really crap driver, just swivel your rear-view mirror a few degrees to the right. 

(Or left if you’ve got a left hand drive obviously.  Wouldn’t want you to be looking at your passengers funny.)

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By the way, why is nobody taking the piss out of Jordan for naming her new child ‘Princess’ in this bloggyweb?  There is so much piss-take ammunition here, it makes my head turn pink just thinking about it.