Dykes In Cars

Today I passed my driving practical test. I can now legally drive alone, and even do things like illegally speed and park badly. This is obviously a great achievement, because every proper dyke drives.

Admittedly it is my mother’s Ford Ka, with it’s little teddy bears she insists on keeping in the back seat. It’s not a cool motorbike, a sports car, or even a land rover. But it does have a nice CD player, and I can drive it.

So I’ve been buzzing around town, safe in the knowledge I can now drive alone, as in without my dad whinging in my ear, or my instructor being patronising about the fact I didn’t signal early enough. My logic is always clear, he just never understood me.

I thought I put on an excellent performance for my license. I was really nice to the man taking me out; I wore a relatively low cut top, and even made jokes about him trying to distract me by driving past topless (male) builders. Haha, I really crack myself up sometimes. And apparently my frantic head movements and general concentrating face paid off, with only 8 minors – I’m an R driver.

I won’t now have to rely on my parents for lifts all the time – and who knows where the road may take me. A few wrong turns and I may well be kidnapped by lesbians.