Behind the wheel of a car he is absolutely the most obnoxious character who ever applied rubber to tarmac. Two tiny, almost imperceptible horns pop up on his head, and a cute little spiky tail sticks out from his bottom as he drives along, screaming obscenities at pedestrians and tail-baiting other unfortunate motorists in an attempt to intimidate and dominate the road.
Whenever I am unfortunate enough to be the front seat passenger during these excursions into insanity, I hang onto the nearest armrest for dear life and hope the end will happen quickly in the event of the unthinkable. As soon as the car is parked again and the seatbelts are off, my husband returns to his nice normal, affectionate squishy self, just like an episode of Jekyll and Hyde.
My most dreaded scenario is one in which an elderly lady might accept a lift from him, innocent of risk to her emotional health.
In the course of taking the passenger seat I have come across at least half a dozen such drivers, at least four of them being male and the other two female. One enterprising lady, not satisfied with verbal abuse, wrote a series of obscenities on large white cards and would select an appropriate one and hold it against the window of her car as she raced past the poor driver she imagined had offended her. In spite of such appalling behaviour by a minority of females, abusive women on the road are still outnumbered two to one by men.
Of course it is pointless to attempt to dissuade these drivers from behaving in this way. They are psychologically compelled to act out aggression on the road and any argument you might submit to them about test driving a gentler approach meets with more aggression and usually a request that you mind your own business, couched in offensive language. Without fail, this person will always end the conversation by reminding you that he or she is a better driver than you are.
A particular hate of my husband’s is the female driver as an entire species, whom he has decreed to be incompetent down to the last gear crunching, clutch burning, lipstick toting, over-coiffed air-head. Yet my own experience of lunacy in cars definitely indicates the male is the more reckless, and of course we cannot both be right.
Men are unable to drive a vehicle unless they rely on the horn and flashing headlights to warn us, more grounded lady drivers of their imminent arrival in the space three inches off our front bumpers.
Men with a particular addiction to road abuse like my husband will fill every journey with a running commentary on what the driver in front is doing; how fast he is travelling, how slow he is travelling, how much faster his car could go if he only knew how to drive it, and his or her parentage being called into question at frequent intervals.
Drivers travelling beside and behind us are also subjected to a forensic character analysis but the driver directly ahead is usually the target of the worst expletives. Should that driver be towing a caravan he is consigned to that part of my husband’s imaginary filing cabinet reserved for the mentally deranged, pedestrians and people who encourage multiple births. Such people are treated with a little more consideration by him, however - one of many facets to his compassionate, endearing but undeniably looney personality.
Women enjoy more favourable insurance premiums than men, and why? The reason is plain to see – women are not only more careful, they are more considerate, more intuitive and more able to stay calm when provoked by the many aggravations present on the roads today. They also have fewer accidents but you cannot remind my husband of that because it makes him go purple.
