There’s a reason I don’t drive my Renault Modus anymore. Not because it’s damaged after I reversed it into a dumpster (sorry, Mum and Dad) or due to my lacklustre navigational skills. But because I’m an angry woman, on the road at least, and it’s best I stay away.
I remember when I first got my Modus. Modey, I called him. ‘Be good’, said Mum and Dad, as they waved me off to cruise the streets of Kent. Everyone lived about 100 miles away from each other back then. So I had to drive, just to get some friends.
I revelled in my revving; I thought of myself as the Steve McQueen of Maidstone as I inhaled the fresh air and whizzed past the local farm shops. Then one day I realised I wasn’t McQueen at all; I was just a raging girl in a Renault.
My road rage started when I realised that cars are actually an extension of people. And people are annoying enough when you walk down the street, but even worse when they’re driving. The highways of Maidstone were like trudging through Oxford Street; no one would say thank you when I gave way. I tried to hold in my frustration, but I couldn’t.
I’ve never told anyone about my road rage before, but now I’ve discovered I’m far from an anomaly. Car manufacturer Hyundai has released a study to show that loads of women are angry drivers. In fact, we’re said to get 12 per cent more road rage than men. To test this, Hyundai attached body sensors to measure women’s reactions to stimuli on the road. Which, even thinking about, makes me rather agitated.
Evolutionary psychologists have claimed that women’s higher levels of road rage are down to our ancestors (yeah, yeah, Mr Evolutionary Psychologist). Apparently demented driving is the consequence of an ‘early warning system’ instinct, which would have alerted our cave sisters to protect their young while men were out hunting.
What a load of baloney. It’s men who are most likely the ones pushing women over the edge, getting that ‘early warning system’ instinct fired up. I hate sharing the roads with them. It’s the arrogance that irritates me; their belief in their, apparently, amazing spatial awareness. And don’t get me started on those pesky boy racers, who seem to think that speeding makes them irresistible. I’ve got news for them: anyone can push a pedal.
All I know is that it’s not my fault I’m an angry woman, nor my great ancestors. It’s the nightmare of driving around others, and the unfathomable lack of courtesy on our roads. Chivalry is dead, particularly behind the wheel.