h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Why does man let woman drive? Apart from those times when man's had a few too many bevvies to chance driving himself?

I mean, I go out and spend eighteen grand on a Jeep Cherokee and I try to keep it nice, honest I do. But when I'm out at work, the wife uses it to ferry children around, and every time I come to use it, it's dirty, the driver's seat is set so far forward that you can't turn the steering wheel, your nose is pressed against the windscreen and you have to reach backwards to change gear. Every conceivable void is stuffed with sweet wrappers and snot laiden tissues, Karen pigging Carpenter is whining on the stereo, and there's no feckin petrol in the fuel tank.

Add to this the fact that in the last two years she's ripped the front wing and light cluster off by hooking a post with the bullbar, in Tesco's car park. There's an unexplained gouge in the rear offside wheel arch, and a dent in the driver's door. She has written off a bus shelter by reversing into it at speed, and for an encore this weekend, she caught the gate hinge in our driveway against the nearside passenger door and ripped a gash in the side, four feet long, and through both doors.

And what has she got to say on the subject? "I wasn't going all that fast." Oh well, that's all right then, eh? As long as you were being careful whilst you opened the side of the car up like a tin of beans with the feckin gate post. I suppose I should be grateful that I at least had the house between me and her when she was so carefully manoeuvring into our driveway.

At least the body shop with give the damn thing a wash, I suppose.

Why does man let woman drive? Probably so woman will let man ride. But then again maybe not.

Where after all is the symbiosis, the win-win situation? Because surely we don't want a competition here?

Some guys are fastidious. Some are absolute slobs. The rest usually fall somewhere inbetween. They treat their cars like they treat their desks or their couches or their season seats at the baseball park or their laptops maybe.

And when she doesn't conform to whatever protocol is invoked for any or all of the above, well, nothing much happens. At best he treats her like his car and at worst, he prefers the company of the car or the dog.

He'll complain about having to leave the toilet seat down and bitterly complain when she leaves the car seat forward. Life is so unjust! What's good for the goose is hardly ever good for the gander we're told or at least it's implied, and not very subtly.

But he typically plods on, bearing up nobly, if not stoically, under the strain, because if he complains too vehemently, then he gets to shuttle the kids around, and we wouldn't want that would we?

We have an understanding about the toilet seat issue; I've agreed to leave it down for her, if she leaves it up for me. As for the car, I treat it like a car; I use it to get where I'm going, but I have to admit that it's a boon if you can arrive at your destination without looking like you're wearing clothes made from paper mached sweet wrappers. And it's nice to get a replacement CD from the seat box without having to peel mucus laden tissues from the case too.

The harrowing adventures of suburban domesticity in the 21st Century!

So will he arrive uncluttered and unsoiled by candy wrappers with pristine or fleshly peeled CDs? And who will pay if the toilet seat treaty isn't honored?

I'm staying tuned to this one.

Hell, my wife drives a Trans Am, and does it better than me (but I have to pay for it). I've totalled three cars and one motorcycle in my day, and she has yet to put a scratch in one.
And before you write me off as some stupid a**. I was actually at one time registered with the NHRA to race at 1/4 mile tracks, and have worked on more cars than I can count. Not to mention a frame off resto job on a '69 Camaro.
So I recommend you leave your wife and find one that can drive. Or go find a boat, steal the dock bumpers, and strap them on the sides of the car.

Good advice, Nelson. On further reflection, I think I need a wife who can drive. You don't maybe know any NASCAR girls who wouldn't mind dating a lesbian do you?

If we're being honest here I've written off a few vehicles myself, but mostly because other drivers have pulled out in front of me. I also totalled a motorbike, but that happened because I jumped a football goal crossbar on it. It was a perfect landing, but the impact broke the frame, and a week later the engine fell out whilst I was overtaking a truck at 70 mph. Very nearly needed a clean pair of undies that day.

The wife is a menace and always has been; she even crashed her driving instructor's car, coming in to park at 30mph. He'd only had it less than a week too. She crashed it straight into a carpet warehouse wall, then she had the audacity to complain because he swore at her.

I restored a Triumph Spitfire from the ground up a few years ago. It took me a year, but it was immaculate. I put a GT6 engine in it, with twin carbs and overdrive gearbox. Brazed in new sections of bodywork where the rust had set in, feathered them in with tin/lead solder, new leather interior, and all there was left to do was get it resprayed and a new soft top put on. Before I got the chance to get it into the paint shop, some bastard torched my garage. I lost the lot; couldn't bear to start again, plus it wasn't insured. Gutted; I took the body off, cut it into four pieces and took it down the dump, then sold the rolling chassis to a friend for next to nothing. I'm still pissed off about it ten years on.

I don't know about the NASCAR girls, but I know a few men that would be interested in dating a couple of lesbians...

Personally, I can't think of anything more frustrating than being in bed with a couple of gorgeous fillies who are more interested in each other than you, but it's a pretty standard male fetish I think. Most of the lesbians I've ever seen have been fairly butch, old and wrinkly, or both though. I suspect all the young pretty ones make a career out of it.

Funny isn't it? The images of the Other we hold on to?

In L.A., the town is crawling with hot lesbians. But I am sad to report I failed to make a conquest of any of them prior to taking myself off the market. I tried like hell though.
NASCAR is a little short of chicks these days. I'd recommend the IHRA. Not that I can confirm any actual lesbians on the circuit.

Maybe we should poll then.

"Excuse me, could you confirm the actual presence of lesbians on your circuit? It's very important since Analiese needs a wife to help with the housework."

Good luck, most them can't read or write. You'll have to poll by phone, but their lines will probably be busy calling televangelists or QVC.

Okay, I give up. What's QVC?

I actually do not know what the abbreviation means, but it is the call letters of an old home shopping channel a friend of mine was addicted to watching. He used to buy everything that came on. It was scary to go in his house, boxes of unopened goods. Ahh. The memories of my days with the insane.

Quick Vacuumed Cerebrum maybe?

Quality Value Channel. Sucks that I had to go find out. This is from unofficial sources however. I like Qualitatively Valueless Consumption, though.