1 + 1 (FINALLY) = 2

my father is blessed with alot of enviable qualities. people skills is not one of them.

no matter how many souls he's crushed with words, he's ploughed onwards and forewards, wading through a lake of tears, toward his goals - which he has always achieved.

when i was 17 i had the honor of learning to drive under the great Basil Green, racing driver extraordinaire, genius motoring mastermind.

we went to an empty parking lot down the road, and lesson one began. my only excuse for changing from 1st to 3rd was that i was too busy focussing on HIM, waiting with baited breath for him to deliver a comment from a tongue matched only by the sword of Zorro.

he said: "ok ok STOP THE CAR just STOP! THE! CAR!" i stopped the car. he said: "right. now let's go back to basics. what is one plus one?"

yes, those words are indelibly etched into my mind like a festering splinter in my brain.

i drive like a person with a festering splinter lodged in their brain.

everyone who knows me has either reported my driving to my parents, or come freaking out to me saying things like: "what's WRONG with you?! you drive like the Tasmanian Devil high on crystal meth on his 7th day with no sleep!"

of course i'm a loyal daughter and i never steal the glory all for myself by claiming the credit for my driving skills. i always attribute them to my famous dad - who drives pretty much the same.

anyway, i recently purchased a new car from my brother Gary. it's a BLACK Fiat Bravo with BLACK rims and a BLACK interior. and it's in a BLACK mood ALL THE TIME because it REFUSES to go slow! before i've put the keys in the ignition i sense it wake up like an angry BLACK panther you've just stirred from its afternoon nap. in fact, driving my car must not be a totally dissimilar experience to being the jockey on the back of a crazed, hyped-up-on-steroids race horse - a BLACK one - that's difficult to reign in and hold back, edgy and freaking out until you finally let it run. a BLACK blur, that's what my car looks like on the road. i think Darth Vader drives one just like it when he's on leave from the Death Star.

my car was covered in huge metallic "GARY GREEN AUTO" signage when i got it. i decided to leave it all on because it made it look sporty and cool. when i was driving Wendy to work the other morning something dawned on her. she told me that now would be the time when i would have to finally learn manners and respect on the roads because not only was Gary's name plastered over every single body panel - including the windscreen - his phone number was as well. so it would only be a matter of days before he got threatening phone calls and legal letters from people who'd been driven over the railing and into the ocean. by me.

however Wendy, as it turns out, i was driving into town when i got a call from my sister-in-law. she said that that fateful phone call had indeed come through. today. only it went something more like THIS: "hi put me through to the sales department IMMEDIATELY! hello - to salesman - i'v just been driving through traffic behind a girl in a BLACK car. but she blew me off at every single robot! i tell you i couldn't catch her! i kept having to eat her dust! i had to really concentrate hard to take your name and number down like, SUPER-FAST before she pulled off again. what IS that car?! and what's IN that car?!" the salesman told him. he said: "WHAT?! no way. a 1400 Turbo?! how is that possible?! that car f***'s off man! and it looks awesome! i must have it i MUST have it i! MUST! HAVE! IT! where are you guys i'm coming in next week!"

i was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of pride as i cast my mind back to all those naff, boring old spoil sports who'd bitched and moaned about my driving over the years. so LISTEN UP you guys, you people either need to learn to drive faster or MOVE YOUR ASS OUTA MY LANE! and you can do that with 'a dash of speed please', as my dad would always say, his front bumper a mili-fraction away from their back bumper, until they panicked SO BAD they'd have to pull over on the side of the road and breathe into a paper bag.

so when i'm behind you, don't look around, try and locate your indicator, ponder on which way to turn, then slooowly make a wiiide arc, no! STOP DOING THAT RIGHT NOW! and TURN THE FRIKKIN steering wheel! HARD! in a DIRECTION! and GET ON WITH IT! even if that's the only fast thing you do all year, do this. for me. pretty please.

over the years when people have asked me what my dad's like in real life the '1 + 1' story has always crept into the conversation somehow. i always use it as a fine example of how my father speaks to people, trying to find a rational explanation for his behaviour, if not for anyone but only myself.

i still can't find the answer to this, but i suspect neither could Freud and Jung left on a desert island together and THIS man being their sole topic.

the answer might not be accessible to humanity ok, but today the results spoke for themselves! over 20 years of receiving public scorn for my driving - and being on a first name basis with the traffic police - the wheel finally turned in one huge - and FAST - rotation when someone - and BOY must HE be a man's man, dug my driving SO MUCH he was prepared to buy the same car as me. now THAT rocks. granite hard!

dad's 'one plus one' FINALLY equalled two for me. something good had to have come out of that statement SOMETIME because the karmic debt it had been building up over the years was starting to wreak havoc on the planet. we're experiencing fine weather here in Cape Town today. don't thank me, thank my dad.