You live and learn

I didn't stall the car a single time this morning.

Those of you going "bhah!" should kindly take into account that being a lady of considerable years I just embarked on car-taming adventure quite recently.

Back in Home Ground I was a seasoned townie and fiercely proud of it. Always lived near city center. Walked everywhere (OK-OK, used cabs a lot). It never even occurred to me to learn driving. Even if it did there were several very weighty factors to keep me from doing so.

• Traffic. Anybody who has ever experienced city center traffic at rush hour knows that by the time you get from A to B in a car you could have got to said B twice on feet with a little pub stop in between.
• Parking. By the time you find a spot to dump your cherished vehicle the movie (meeting/pub crawl/etc) will be long over. When you get back to your car you can happily practice your damage assessment skills by counting broken windows, nicked wheels or some creative key/pen/nail induced artwork on doors.
• Money. Petrol+insurance+parking+maintenance=one broke Foreigner. Oh, did I mention you'd have to buy a car first? Oopsie. How could I forget. Such a minor wee expense.

But beyond all those practical reasons I am quite frankly freaked by cars. Don't mind sitting on passenger seat at all. Can happily make my way through the most mind-bogglingly mad junctions (even with a buggy filled with wildly annoyed baby, proven fact). But sitting behind the wheel makes me instantly paranoid.

You see, there is no way I can be in control of 3000 pound concoction of processed natural resources, that's just silly. It's bigger than me. And heavier. And probably just waiting for me to drop my vigilance levels. And THEN it'll get me...

No way I was going to present one of them monsters with an opportunity.

And then I moved to Ireland. Into a village.

Suddenly I couldn't even get a haircut without dragging the poor long suffering Ultimate Other Half with me. I needed him to go shopping, visit a doctor, get a bikini wax, go to work... Time after time I mused aloud that I really SHOULD learn to drive. Leaving it happily at that and dragging Other Half kicking and screaming into the car to give me a lift.

Then Sir Sprout popped out and things got serious. At first it was just driving lessons.

"Some people have natural knack for driving," one of the instructors told me. "Others just need to practice and practice and practice!" Cue thoughtful look in my direction.

Oh. Really. Thanks for words of wisdom. (Bitch!)

Once I managed to keep the amount of stalls per minute below 5 I proceeded to practicing with our own car as suggested by said driving instructor. Most likely to save her some big bucks on Valium.

And, boy, did I hate every minute of it! I growled, I sulked, I snapped, I mumbled, I cried. The Ultimate Other Half, a kind and compassionate human being, did not deserve the horrible realization that he had married a neurotic hag who will probably eventually end up running amok and scalping the cattle.

Therefore I have every right to announce with just pride and satisfaction that I did not stall the car a single time this morning.

I did yesterday though.

Twice.