AAAIIIYYYEEEEE! Who's handing out these driving licences?

It's not a generalised attack on women; no, it's specifically about a dopey-arsed tart whom I encountered this afternoon.

Firstly, I have to say that it's lovely that she took the time to paint herself the colour of mahogany. It's also just splendid that she's bleached and straightened her hair so comprehensively that it bears no resemblance to a natural fibre and could accurately be classed as man-made. It's also adorable that she's paying homage to the England football team by dressing like every WAG that ever stumbled on to the pavement with a Cricket bag held aloft for maximum exposure.

What I don't appreciate is that, having put the top down on her car, she's re-enacting every cheesy car advert she's ever seen, by DRIVING WITH ABANDON IN THE SUNSHINE, CRUSTY HAIR BEING TOSSED AROUND, AT 60 MILES AN HOUR THROUGH A CAR PARK, DIRECTLY TOWARDS ME, VEERING AWAY AT THE LAST MOMENT TO THROW THE CAR WITH ABANDON IN TO A PARKING SPOT.

It's not that I don't enjoy the excitement; I also didn't mind having an opportunity to watch my life flash before my eyes, since it did provide such wonderful, magnificent viewing.

But really; who in Hades is handing out driving licences to these pokey-arsed little bitches?

And: rest.

Thank you.

Aunty
x

Emmeline Pankhurst has failed on the roads

Nowhere is Emmeline Pankhurst's legacy less in evidence than on the roads. Why oh why oh why oh why (etc) do so many women drive as though they're tentatively giving it a go, in the hope that someone will come along and give them permission to do it properly?

Get in the car, grow some balls, and get on.

Thank you.

xx