Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Driving me to distraction

I should mention the previously unplumbed depths of  depression, the peaks of angst, the highs and lows of emotion occasioned by ones daughter, a mere lass of seventeen summers passing her driving test. 



Pride ? Oh yes, pride that she has finally attained the government measured minimal level of ability that enables thousands of frickin' halfwits to venture, every day, onto the Queen's highway in partial and occasional control of a ton or so of killing machine with the sole apparent intention of driving me into either a ditch or terminal apoplexy. 

So a little pride but also an all-consuming terror that my little girl will now be out there amongst the aforementioned halfwits, so vulnerable without my all-encompassing and paternally powerful protection. 

Then there's the conflict around independence of transport, if she can get around without  reliance on public transport or my chauffeuring services then maybe I'll see more of her? Hang on, wait a minute, what am I thinking, she's a teenager, with a car, obviously she'll be ferrying her chums from gig to movie to bar to club to beach to ???? 

And I'll never see her again, until she runs out of petrol money, obviously. 

It's tough being a dad.

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