Husband has bravely volunteered to teach me to drive. Lesser things have ruined marriages. We both feel that we can get through it though.
When I first got my L's, I was taken to a big gravel car park on Beach Road in Sandringham. I wasn't allowed to accelerate. Not even a little bit. Apparently the car idled high enough that it would move itself and I could just steer. Which was awesome, until the hoon spirit over came me and I had a burning desire to travel at more than 2 kilometers an hour.
I was allowed to then drive in circles, accelerating up to 20 kilometers an hour. It was impressive, I tell you. I was overtaking all the parked cars in the car park. Once, I even overtook an old man with a walking stick. It was exhilarating.
After that I got to drive in an estate. You know those ones where all the houses are the same? Kids are supposed to play outside and people jog and smile near the fake water features? Anyway, I was allowed to drive there, doubling my speed yet again to 40. I was a rally car driver! I drove in between a parked car and a parked bus. I felt like I was driving on the death road in South America.
When I graduated to driving on a more road-y road we went to the Docklands and drove around there. There aren't that many cars and it's a feature rich kind of road. Like a fruit and nut chocolate bar versus a plain one. There are traffic lights and speed bumps and pedestrians who are too fucking stupid to realise that they probably shouldn't jump out of a hunk of metal and plastic moving at 50ks an hour piloted by an out of control red head with a sadistic gleam in her eye.
One such night I was driving around the Docklands in a special route that took me around corners and other drivery type things. I had made an executive decision that I was bored with my special learning route, and wanted to deviate. Husband agreed. I missed the turn I had intended to take and ended up driving on a real road. Or, as I call it, The Scary Road. For some reason that night there were an abundance of police cars around and at all times, one was following me. This made me understandably nervous. So, I got lost on The Scary Road, and ended up driving into the city. I almost ended up on Spencer Street, which would have been a disaster. I had to do a U-Turn and I ended up stuck on some tram tracks when I mistook the brake for the accelerator. Then, I got beeped at by an angry man.
Husband was reassuring through all of this. He really is a very patient man.
I'm driving fine now, and no longer hear Husbands dismayed gasps as he says "BIT TO THE RIGHT!" as I'm going along beside parked cars. I do still make jokes that if Husband was ever to form a band, he should call it "Grasping At Doors" after his habit of grabbing the Jesus Handle or the Oh Shit Handle when he thinks I'm not braking fast enough or he thinks I haven't seen something in the road ahead.
When I ask him for advice sometimes on how to execute a particular move, he will feel confident to answer my question of "Ok. So, how do I get to there from here?" with a curt "Left!" and an eye roll, rather than an instruction of how to turn the wheel and when to brake and accelerate.
As I said, Husband is a patient man. He's also a nice man. For example, he wouldn't let me drive over a cyclist that yelled at me on the weekend. I know that I'm a new driver, but I know that I am of the same opinion as a million other drivers on the road. For the majority, cyclists are huge self entitled jerks. Apparently, he thought I didn't see him. Like I could miss his spandex covered sweaty fluro arse. He was so far in my lane instead of over in his ow little bike riding section and apparently a foot of space between my wing mirror and his over inflated ego isn't enough.
I thought you got extra points if you hit the ones with wheels? I could be wrong though. I am only new.
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