in response to my "you drive like a man" line (read previous entry), here's what i should have provided, i thought it was a pretty fine article,
My Driving Ambition
When someone said I was a great driver, it sent me on an ego trip. But I feel driven to be more that that: I want to drive like a man.
by Teo Pau Lin
NOT long ago, a female colleague commented to me as I was giving her a ride home: 'You're the best woman driver I know.'
I consider that the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me. It's even better than if my boss were to tell me 'Well done', or if an M)phosis salesgirl were to say I could fit into its size-S jeans.
Women, after all, have often had a reputation of being lousy drivers.
Those who had ever been stuck behind a road-hogger or clumsy lane-switcher would know: Seven out of 10 times, it's a woman.
Those who had ferried female passengers would also attest: If you don't want to get lost, stop the car and read the map yourself.
And, if you want to strike fear and trembling into the deepest heart of most women, get them to parallel park.
But not this driver.
If there's one thing I can do like a pro, it's reading maps. When I parallel park, I do it with such speed and stunt-show precision that the fellow in the car behind me wouldn't even have time to load a new CD.
And I am so adept in multi-tasking that I can exit a carpark, retrieve my cashcard and apply blusher all at the same time.
But while being called a great driver is high praise indeed, I've since set myself a newer, loftier goal.
I want to drive like a man.
YOU could link it back to the cavemen days when men were handy with their chisels, but there's something enviable about the way men are with their machines.
Whether it's a joystick, a skateboard, a mountain bike or a roaring sportscar, men have always been able to tame them with such authority and grace.
If I could drive like a man, it would mean that I, too, can lay some vain claim to men's mastery over their toys.
And, if I could drive like a man - and this is the competitive me speaking - I can beat lesser men at their own game.
So, I've taken some finer points in driving from the men in my life.
My father has always been quite a stud at the wheel. Sit in his car and you'd never suffer from motion sickness or have to shriek from emergency stops.
It all boils down to excellent brake control and a Zen-like approach to on-the-road stress.
Lose your head, and you lose your cool. When a real man drives, he always looks cool.
My brother, who is a karting enthusiast and speedmeister, has raised the level of drive-time chillness even higher.
Once when I was being driven in his backseat, I witnessed how he handled an errant taxi-driver who swerved in to overtake him, with just a few inches separating their bumpers.
In suave and silent protest, my brother signalled out, overtook the taxi-driver, sat nice and plump in front of him, and slowed him down to a crawl.
When a real man drives, he hardly ever hits the horn.
SO, I put these tips to good use.
I wear the look of a nonchalant, wheel-steering chanteuse whatever the road-side misdemeanour.
You can overtake me like Rambo on a mission, or make a sudden stop, or appear out of nowhere, and I will roll with your punches.
I can handle whatever you throw at me. I will not sound the horn.
I resolutely refuse to rubber-neck at any traffic accident as only rookies are enthralled by traffic gore. In my eight years of driving, I've already seen them all.
In fact, recently, I burnt some serious rubber on the way to Kuala Lumpur as I tore up the North South Highway at a very manly 140kmh, all the while bouncing to 50 Cent and not missing a beat.
But that ego trip came to a screeching halt when halfway, I stopped at a petrol kiosk near Malacca to have my tank filled.
Getting out of my car, I realised that unlike in Singapore, there were no service crew attending to me.
Then it struck me, the pampered Singaporean driver: I don't know how to pump petrol.
So much for driving like a man.
As I grappled unglamorously with the printed instructions on the pump station, I thought to myself, I'll just settle with being a great woman driver.
anyhow, while she settles for being a great woman driver, i will, meanwhile, settle for being a i'm-comfortable-with-you-driving driver. one has to start somewhere.
My Driving Ambition
When someone said I was a great driver, it sent me on an ego trip. But I feel driven to be more that that: I want to drive like a man.
by Teo Pau Lin
NOT long ago, a female colleague commented to me as I was giving her a ride home: 'You're the best woman driver I know.'
I consider that the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me. It's even better than if my boss were to tell me 'Well done', or if an M)phosis salesgirl were to say I could fit into its size-S jeans.
Women, after all, have often had a reputation of being lousy drivers.
Those who had ever been stuck behind a road-hogger or clumsy lane-switcher would know: Seven out of 10 times, it's a woman.
Those who had ferried female passengers would also attest: If you don't want to get lost, stop the car and read the map yourself.
And, if you want to strike fear and trembling into the deepest heart of most women, get them to parallel park.
But not this driver.
If there's one thing I can do like a pro, it's reading maps. When I parallel park, I do it with such speed and stunt-show precision that the fellow in the car behind me wouldn't even have time to load a new CD.
And I am so adept in multi-tasking that I can exit a carpark, retrieve my cashcard and apply blusher all at the same time.
But while being called a great driver is high praise indeed, I've since set myself a newer, loftier goal.
I want to drive like a man.
YOU could link it back to the cavemen days when men were handy with their chisels, but there's something enviable about the way men are with their machines.
Whether it's a joystick, a skateboard, a mountain bike or a roaring sportscar, men have always been able to tame them with such authority and grace.
If I could drive like a man, it would mean that I, too, can lay some vain claim to men's mastery over their toys.
And, if I could drive like a man - and this is the competitive me speaking - I can beat lesser men at their own game.
So, I've taken some finer points in driving from the men in my life.
My father has always been quite a stud at the wheel. Sit in his car and you'd never suffer from motion sickness or have to shriek from emergency stops.
It all boils down to excellent brake control and a Zen-like approach to on-the-road stress.
Lose your head, and you lose your cool. When a real man drives, he always looks cool.
My brother, who is a karting enthusiast and speedmeister, has raised the level of drive-time chillness even higher.
Once when I was being driven in his backseat, I witnessed how he handled an errant taxi-driver who swerved in to overtake him, with just a few inches separating their bumpers.
In suave and silent protest, my brother signalled out, overtook the taxi-driver, sat nice and plump in front of him, and slowed him down to a crawl.
When a real man drives, he hardly ever hits the horn.
SO, I put these tips to good use.
I wear the look of a nonchalant, wheel-steering chanteuse whatever the road-side misdemeanour.
You can overtake me like Rambo on a mission, or make a sudden stop, or appear out of nowhere, and I will roll with your punches.
I can handle whatever you throw at me. I will not sound the horn.
I resolutely refuse to rubber-neck at any traffic accident as only rookies are enthralled by traffic gore. In my eight years of driving, I've already seen them all.
In fact, recently, I burnt some serious rubber on the way to Kuala Lumpur as I tore up the North South Highway at a very manly 140kmh, all the while bouncing to 50 Cent and not missing a beat.
But that ego trip came to a screeching halt when halfway, I stopped at a petrol kiosk near Malacca to have my tank filled.
Getting out of my car, I realised that unlike in Singapore, there were no service crew attending to me.
Then it struck me, the pampered Singaporean driver: I don't know how to pump petrol.
So much for driving like a man.
As I grappled unglamorously with the printed instructions on the pump station, I thought to myself, I'll just settle with being a great woman driver.
anyhow, while she settles for being a great woman driver, i will, meanwhile, settle for being a i'm-comfortable-with-you-driving driver. one has to start somewhere.
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