Driving Miss Crazy

There are some days that eating chocolate before dinner is simply a must. Days of all things going bad, days of premenstrual or pre-murderous, days of everyone in my workplace is a complete fuckface and I no longer care if my arse causes an eclipse of the sun. So today whilst driving home from the not so super supermarket, I reclaimed the joys of being multi dexterous and careened around the streets whilst stuffing a dark chocolate KitKat down my face, and down my shirt and down the side of the seat. Driving whilst eating takes skill. Once one has mastered the talents of a competent driver one must also learn the ability to a) light a cigarette without taking your eyes of the road; b) rummage through handbag looking for sunglasses without driving right over the cupie doll on the Vespa and c) find the right (moment) radio station without rearending the ute up front that probably wouldn't notice anyway. When I first learned to drive, there was no auto select radio tuner in my car. The only optional extra was a gramophone strapped to the roof or the church choir in the boot for sub woofer effect. I took my ghetto blaster in the car with me so I could share the tunes of the Damned or the Cramps with all of Melbourne but it took skills to select the cassette, insert and fast forward to the right song, change gears, light up a fag, wind down the window (handle remember) and cruise the city streets without collecting any major lighting fixture at the same time. Fortunately these days cars don't require you to BYO music and as for my selections these days they are more likely to be singing about Insurance than singing about the undead (same thing really). So, where was I? Oh yes, eating chocolate and driving. Should be included in every driving test. Let's see them get their C plates before those green P things.