Monday, September 28, 2009
A couple of days ago we had some guests who parked their car inside our driveway. It so happened that I needed to get mine out while they were still inside the house and since the drive way had become somewhat congested with two of our cars plus an extra one that belonged to the visitors, I had some problem backing out of the place. Result was that I grazed the side of the car rather badly against the gate of the driveway, leaving a big ugly scar and green paint from the gate all over the front left corner of the car.
This was by no means the only time I had done such a thing
A few days ago I drove the car against a curb and put a scratch on it. In all fairness I don’t think it can be accurately referred to as just a “scratch”. It was actually the grandfather of all scratches, starting all the way from the back door and extending till the middle of the front.
Technically, road side curbs are supposed to be lower than the car’s body so the worse that could happen even if some one takes a tight turn, as I did, is that the curb receives black tire marks to speak of the encounter, and not the other way around, with the curb leaving evidence of its cemented presence on the car. So in short whose fault was it? The curb’s of course or maybe of the one who had build such a ridiculously high pavement. But definitely not mine. Unfortunately my father did not see in that way.
My father was not pleased on either occasion. And I don’t blame him
It is his car I am wrecking.
With a most disapproving scowl on his face, he proceeded to inspect all other indentations and scratches I had put on his car since I had started using it, while I very sensibly disappeared from the spot before he could finish the count.
This reminded me of a similar situation some years back when my late husband, addressing our then two year old boy had once ruefully remarked:
“You know son, every single mark on our car has been put there by your mother”.
What was most infuriating about this statement was that it was true.
Generally, my husband reacted pretty reasonably to the news of each new indentation caused by me.
As long as it was only inanimate objects like curbs and parked cars that I was hitting and not some walking breathing human being (which mercifully I have managed to avoid hitting to date) he would let me off with an occasional exasperated dialogue regarding my driving capabilities.
Over the years I feel that I have grown better with practice.
• Now I am causing damage in even more innovative ways.
• From an older green model I have moved on to a more expensive newer silver model, and
• What is more, I am damaging something that does not even belong to me.
So what does this all prove?
It Proves that I have become a professional
I do however, feel reassured in the knowledge that I am not the only female in the country that drives this way. I recall another occasion some years back when a car in front of us indicated a coming left turn and turned sharply to the right instead. At this my annoyed cousin at the driving seat remarked.
“Bet there is a woman at the wheel”.
“How biased and stereotypical,” was my reaction from the back seat
“You think so’ he said, “then let’s go make sure”
He said this as he pressed the accelerator to over take the vehicle up ahead.
Needless to say that to my extreme embarrassment, he turned out to be right
There was indeed a LADY at the wheel blissfully oblivious to what blunder she had just committed.
The bottom line is that I may not be a very good driver but I am, after all, only a woman.
So can anyone blame me for driving like one?