Get Off My Arse!

Today the almost unbelievable happened.

After 10 years of being a dedicated biped I put my hands on the wheel of a car and drove.

Not just a practice tootle down the quiet backstreets of my suburb.  A real life drive.  On the open road.  Going 100 kilometres an hour, whizzing past paddocks and cows, before slowing down to 50 k's as we moseyed through small country towns, then increasing speed as we hit the Auckland motorway.

I feel like I should have italicised 'the'.

With leather encasing my butt, the smell of hot tarmac in the air and sweaty palms greasing the wheel I felt the magnificent freedom of the keen motorist.

I also discovered what I'd long suspected.  People are mental on the roads.  Young people and grown ups alike tailgated the living daylights out of me.  Apparently doing the speed limit is optional to those driving Holdens or Fords or clapped out Toyotas from the early 90's.  Who knew?

So I was thinking I should get a bumper sticker made.

Please back off.
My tail is for my husband alone.
Or maybe ...
If you can see me giving you the finger you're too close.