Dodging MacDonalds trucks, nearly flying into a river, almost inserting myself into a brick wall at sixty. We did all that and survived - barely. Now my offspring has passed her driving test. All over, I thought. No more problems.
That was just the beginning. Before my daughter, a procession of drivers have owned, loved and cared for her twelve year old Polo. For its age it was in remarkable condition. In the six months since my spawn has owned it, it's changed shape. I can't go out of the house now without seeing another dent, scrape and what looks suspiciously like dead wildlife clinging onto, or ingrained into the tailgate. I didn't think hatchbacks were supposed to have ledges below the rear window.
I've only been driving for forty years so what can I tell a veteran of six months.
'Dad, don't be such an old grunt-futtocks. It was only a truck, and I missed it.'
Yes, she missed it but not before I'm convinced I saw the driver crossing himself, while preparing to bail out - at thirty miles an hour.
'And why can't I go through the speed restriction at sixty miles per hour?'
'And why is that bus driving on the wrong side of the road? Oh, sorry.'
Sometimes I miss the Royal Marines. At least there it was only people who didn't know me who were trying to kill me.
I think I'll let Seymour teach our kids how to drive. I'm beginning to see the wisdom in my dad's refusal to teach me to drive. Never mind the fact that we didn't own a car when I hit driving age, he said even if we'd owned one, he still wouldn't have taught me. Maybe he was smarter than I thought at the time.
ReplyDeleteHe knew better than I. There isn't enough money in the world to make me do it again. But at least when she goes for her advanced license, someone else will be teaching her - the poor sap.
DeleteOh, now this is a scary story. Yet, so funny.
ReplyDeleteI didn't even put in the worst bits, I haven't got the adult filter on my blog switched on.
Delete"grunt-futtocks"
ReplyDeleteNow that's one I've never heard, though i can guess the meaning ;)
Sounds terrifying!
It doesn't mean anything, really. Except in my case: a moaning old git.
ReplyDeleteOh, Roger. I feel for you.
ReplyDeleteToday she driver alone.
ReplyDeleteOk, so you never heard of NuYorican, wellll, what about "grunt-futtocks"? I guess we're even now,huh? Words! Gotta love em!
ReplyDeleteIt's a military phrase. Every time some self important little twerp began shouting pointless orders someone would say something like, "Here comes corporal grunt-futtocks." It's a term of endearment - not.
ReplyDelete