My husband has put his foot down. He refuses to buy me a new car! Even though he has to jump start my car as part of his morning routine.
Why? I hear you cry in horror. You know that I must be a careful and considerate driver!
From some strange reason, my husband disagrees.
OK, so it took me a year to work out that my car had five gears. I thought that would be a reasonable mistake to make by someone who only learnt to drive with four gears. No one mentioned a fifth? I just thought the manufacturer suffered with a form of numerical dyslexia.
I can understand what he means by not using the car door as a hurdle, but if the cyclist has been watching he would have noticed me opening the door before he catapulted over the top of it and landed dazed on the bonnet. I bought him lunch to compensate the mishap and remarked on possible new career opportunities as his athletic abilities were surely worthy of the 2012 Olympics.
And doesn’t everyone look at houses whilst driving. I thought it was compulsory to look whilst driving and I am sure it was part of my driving test. I do occasionally look at the road in front, but how will I ever find my dream home, if I don’t peruse the for sale signs as I pass. I have never actually hit the car in front whilst house hunting behind the wheel. (Well OK, only that one time. But who carries out an emergency stop in the middle of the road!)
I sympathise with my husband’s comparison of my car with a land fill site. But, the kids like to be creative with their crisp packets and view their floor covering designs as Modern Art. If Tracy Emin can call an unmade bed art, then my kids could make millions. I also like to view it as doing my little bit for recycling, the chocolate bar wrappers not only keep the floor mud free but also give the children something to read on long journeys. OK some crisp packets may date back to 2006, but one day they may be worth something, collector’s items even.
And maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take the roof down during a snow storm, but what mother doesn’t aim to please their child’s every whim.
So I really don’t think these are valid reasons to stop me having a new car.
You see I really don’t think I am a bad driver. I admit my driving instructor went white with shock when I waved the test pass in front of his eyes. He was convinced I wouldn’t pass first time, but I think he was a little relieved that I would no longer be available for unsheduled off roading sessions during lesson time, allowing the forest to return to its natural peacefulness. And maybe a few of my passengers now have their own personalised neck braces which they put on BEFORE I start driving.
I like to think that I am confident on the road and I am pleased to have quickly adapted my personality to compete with the other road users. I can swear in numerous languages to cater for all foreign drivers and my hand gestures would rival any professional sign language interpreter.
I have tried so hard to reason with my husband, but he won’t budge on the matter. So off I shuffle sadly to give my car its annual bath that always seems to coincide with its MOT. Obviously that is just a coincidence.