NAVIGATION NIGHTMARES
When woman meets man... behind the wheel.
Have you ever wondered why your husband watches television with his hands down his pants?
Chances are he is massaging his navigational equipment.
Maintenance!
Now that the holidays are behind us I have taken to dwelling on the more amusing, not to be repeated, aspects of summer holidays.
What is it about men and cars?
My French Husband (herein FH) turns into a sexist 1950's dictator/bully-boy everytime we drive off on holiday. No one can drive the car except for himself - man's domain. No one can give directions - honestly, with FH this is the precipice of personal danger to even try. To try is to make mockery of his very malehood. He will growl and snap, spit scary 50's prototype phrases such as " I am a 40 year old man, I do not need your assistance," " I was a boy scout. I can read maps!" etc.
I have come to the conclusion that, in France ( or is this global?), one needs a penis to drive and balls to navigate!!
We clearly do not need a GPS navigational device...we have FH and, I nearly forgot, his iPhone.
I can be sitting next to him with maps, GPS downloaded on my iPad etc but it has no effect except to berate. The voice on my iPad GPS is ...you guessed it, a woman's!
Can you imagine racing along at 130km/hr with FH clutching iPhone in right hand, driving with the left whilst peering down at iPhone every other 30 seconds and veering off to the right everytime. It is HAIR RAISING!! This DesperateAngloHousewife has been known to break out into a sweat and scream out her battle-cry of "Who won the war!!!". But I have learnt to sit there, say nothing, clutch my purse and try and remember the words to "Hail Mary!
I think this summer may have brought "closure" however.. Taking one of his famous " short cuts" ( which are usually longer but the idea is you keep moving rather than get stuck in traffic jams...we circumnavigate central France to go to Lyon!), we ended up in Clermont-Ferrand.
It is Saturday morning, market day. Most of the streets are shut. The children and I try to convince FH to take the roads out. But NO, FH decides to go through central Clermont-Ferrand. Picture a car piled up with luggage, children etc driving down the pedestrian STEPS of central Clermont-Ferrand. I said nothing - just smiled and waved at the stunned shop owners and pedestrians.
GPS for Christmas...already ordered.
I need a drink! This one seems appropriate...
Old Fashioned
1 sugar cube
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 orange slices
3 oz Bourbon
Place sugar cube at the bottom of your glass. Dash on Bitters. Add one orange slice. "Muddle" these ingredients.
Fill glass with ice cubes. Add Bourbon and stir well.
Chances are he is massaging his navigational equipment.
Maintenance!
Now that the holidays are behind us I have taken to dwelling on the more amusing, not to be repeated, aspects of summer holidays.
What is it about men and cars?
My French Husband (herein FH) turns into a sexist 1950's dictator/bully-boy everytime we drive off on holiday. No one can drive the car except for himself - man's domain. No one can give directions - honestly, with FH this is the precipice of personal danger to even try. To try is to make mockery of his very malehood. He will growl and snap, spit scary 50's prototype phrases such as " I am a 40 year old man, I do not need your assistance," " I was a boy scout. I can read maps!" etc.
I have come to the conclusion that, in France ( or is this global?), one needs a penis to drive and balls to navigate!!
We clearly do not need a GPS navigational device...we have FH and, I nearly forgot, his iPhone.
I can be sitting next to him with maps, GPS downloaded on my iPad etc but it has no effect except to berate. The voice on my iPad GPS is ...you guessed it, a woman's!
Can you imagine racing along at 130km/hr with FH clutching iPhone in right hand, driving with the left whilst peering down at iPhone every other 30 seconds and veering off to the right everytime. It is HAIR RAISING!! This DesperateAngloHousewife has been known to break out into a sweat and scream out her battle-cry of "Who won the war!!!". But I have learnt to sit there, say nothing, clutch my purse and try and remember the words to "Hail Mary!
I think this summer may have brought "closure" however.. Taking one of his famous " short cuts" ( which are usually longer but the idea is you keep moving rather than get stuck in traffic jams...we circumnavigate central France to go to Lyon!), we ended up in Clermont-Ferrand.
It is Saturday morning, market day. Most of the streets are shut. The children and I try to convince FH to take the roads out. But NO, FH decides to go through central Clermont-Ferrand. Picture a car piled up with luggage, children etc driving down the pedestrian STEPS of central Clermont-Ferrand. I said nothing - just smiled and waved at the stunned shop owners and pedestrians.
GPS for Christmas...already ordered.
I need a drink! This one seems appropriate...
1 sugar cube
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 orange slices
3 oz Bourbon
Place sugar cube at the bottom of your glass. Dash on Bitters. Add one orange slice. "Muddle" these ingredients.
Fill glass with ice cubes. Add Bourbon and stir well.
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Oh, the "short" cuts!! Which serve no other purpose other than to make you later then you would have been otherwise. Oh, yeah, been there.
ReplyDeleteYep, my husband too.Once behind the wheel turns into veritable sexist pig who will be told nothing nothing nothing.
ReplyDeleteGood to know I am not alone!
Susie, try xanax for vacation driving!All french doctors prescribre it.Great post, had me laughing.
ReplyDelete@ anon, Sian and Janice..thanks for your comments. Has anyone noticed that the chaps haven't commented about this post? hahaha
ReplyDelete@ Susie, Grrrrrr but guilty.
ReplyDeleteWell I am not French but what a great picture you paint! Cars and BBQs seem to have the same effect. I think it is to make up for all of our other feelings of inadequacy........ ;-)
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