Road Manners: Pity Mr Pathetic Middle-Aged Pedestrian. Has life so passed you by you can't even afford to shell out for a Seicento - or do you find treading suburban paths affords you more time to ogle aforementioned mobile, nubile chicks?
I realise you have every right to run down the freedom of women of a certain eye-pleasing age to drive about in an erratic manner. After all you do own the road, or at least your better more successful colleagues do.
Arguing otherwise is futile. Truly, we're most grateful you've allowed us evolve sufficiently to climb into our lifesize dinky cars so we can propel ourselves about more speedily in the pursuit of all kinds of girly objectives.
Like getting to the office on time so we can reassure our vainglorious Beemer/Lexus/Merc driving bosses that, yes, they are quite fantastic.
And, yes, they should run with those fabulous ideas of theirs, which of course we originally conceived. And, no, of course we don't mind if they take the presentations we spent weeks on and present them as their own.
Maybe Mitsubishi Midriff Girl - your powers of observation are admirable - is nipping in to pick up one of the "brats" from the childminder.
Perish the thought Dad might have to do it - after all, the logistical challenge of driving AND parenting would really be pushing it. Anyway, who wants that gicky kids' sick all over their leather upholstery - no, best leave it to the toy car.
Of course, Tanktop Katie (I bet Middle-Aged Pedestrian has happy memories of the 1970s) may be trying to get some grocery shopping done on the way home from work. Because Beemer Brendan/Lexus Larry/Merc Mike throws a complete fit if he arrives home from his post-work pints and his dinner isn't on the table.
I know, it's a terrible inconvenience that birds are allowed on the road in such harrowing numbers.
Those little cars doing all their mundane little chores - what an eyesore!
Just think: if they didn't exist, what an oasis of calm our streets would be. Men could perambulate about in their boat-sized cars, stroking their behemoth egos as they vie for their places on the status tree.
But think on . . . if the little women don't learn early how to drive about in their runabouts, who's going to ferry the brats about and do the shopping? No, no, no, Mr Middle Aged Ped, you might as well keep on watching the girls go by, because they're the ones that make your world go round.
