Yay! Woots! Joy! Bliss! Lots of love all around!

The car’s finally here, after weeks of waiting and living in anticipation at the prospect of no longer having to depend on anyone and everyone for transport (you know who you are, you blessed souls you. Those who’ve brought me to/from dinners, mamak sessions, class…*heart* Thank you). I’m finally mobile!

But of course, there are the inevitable catches. The brother and I both predict I will now be the official chauffeur of the grandmother, who will guilt me into bringing her grocery shopping every week, to my aunts’ houses (ranging from USJ16 to Cheras *groan*)  and to her various and plentiful medical appointments. We also foresee my mother asking me to drive around her sister-in-law who has a car but refuses to use it, send her and her brood to church, and sending my brother to school, his guitar class, and potentially further karate grading classes.

I will of course be using subsidised petrol money, but on top of all this I need to still attend classes, run around doing the occasional interview and story, and maintain, nay, create a social life for myself.

“With great power comes great responsibility.” You can say that again, Brudder.

For the curious out there, it’s not a huge, expensive, luxurious car. It’s a Proton Saga (in keeping with the family tradition; almost everyone started out with a Proton Saga as their first car, heh) and it’s black. It’s got power steering (the only thing I really wanted *heart*), and is manual. I like manual cars. Mind you, this is the first time though that I’ve matied-engine in ages—after being so used to driving my mum’s clunking mucus green car with no power steering, and whose gears and all are incredibly unresponsive, this one is so light o_O

I drove back from Glenmarie with my mum screaming her precious head off in the front seat. Screaming that there were cars 20ft behind me, screaming that I was too close to the curb, screaming that I was going too fast, screaming because the car was swerving (hello, let me get used to the power steering can or not?!). Gaah.

Driving with one’s mother is damn stressful. At least my father just turns pale-faced (no mean feat, considering how tan he is) and pumps his right root up and down on an imaginary brake while clutching onto the Jesus-bars *winks at Jo for inside joke reference*.

Anyhoo, am glad I won’t have to trot to the bus stop any longer or depend on others for transport. Of course, mine will be another car added to the terrible mess that is USJ/Subang traffic, and worse still, another ‘female’ driver on the road. Of course I am not disputing the fact that I am female, but you know what the stereotype of female drivers is.

To some sad extent, I am one of them, in the sense that I will use any lull in traffic to check my hair/makeup, but however I do signal, I give way, and I sure as hell don’t tailgate *pointed looks at other female driver friends*. I will naturally cuss and swear like a fishwife, but it’s all good because I have latent roadrage that is just ready to bubble to the surface.

Another Subang driver on the road. Watch out, world.