Morphing into she-hulk.

I need anger management classes. I’m not the most patient person around. In fact, let’s just say I’m very quick-tempered. It’s not a trait I’m proud of, and I keep telling myself I need to change. Before you run away in fear, I see the need to reiterate that even though my temper can arise faster than you can say doobeedoodahdah, I’m also the type to flare then be tame the next moment. Not that it’s any less scary, but I like to tell myself I’m better than those who simmer and stew for a long time.

However, lots of work still needs to be done especially when I’m driving. It’s funny how all these incompetent drivers come out of the woodwork every single day. And it’s not even as if I’m a damn good driver. I’m ok, just not spectacular.

My job just happens to throw me on the roads everyday, and I believe that practice makes perfect. Or almost. So even though I might not make it to any F1 team, at least I’m not a reckless driver. Yes I do speed sometimes, but I’m careful. Other than not killing myself, I have to be considerate to other road users as well.

Before this becomes a self-praise post, let us come back to the temper monster within me that gets unleashed whenever I’m on the roads.

Eons ago, I decisively made a conscious attempt to have less of a potty mouth. I must say that results are very encouraging. Part work environment (can’t be swearing at my customers who all happen to be doctors right…? And my colleagues who are mostly prim and proper), partly due to the company I often keep these days (largely X), and a large part what my younger sister said about it before (she said I might sound to outsiders like I didn’t have parents to teach me manners).

This hard work unravels instantly when I get behind the wheel. I’ve tried, I really have. I’ve tried to be the kind and courteous driver that I should be but I just cannot do it.

I cuss and swear non-stop. I call these mother-fuckers who suddenly cut dangerously into my lane all kinds of names under the sun. I suddenly become effectively trilingual in vulgarities when people seem to have forgotten that their signals were installed for a damn purpose. I get into staring challenges with assholes who tailgate the car in front of them closely when they refuse to let me switch lanes. I slow down on purpose at drivers who tailgate me. I tailgate imbeciles who hog the fast lane and drive at a snail’s pace. I scream bloody murder at drivers who honk at me for no reason other than me allowing someone to cut in front of me/ allowing the distance of my car to the one in front to grow by 5cm. I loathe BMW drivers in general (many incidences are often provoked by them). Even though I’m woman myself, I have to concur with the men that many female drivers suck balls. They are terrible drivers. And what’s with those who drive recklessly, dangerously at high speeds and cutting from the first lane to the third or into a filtering road?! In plain words, I turn into a monster.

X is very afraid when he’s in my car. He says he hopes to never see me unleash my full potential because I’ve admitted to him that I hold myself back when I’m with him. My sister thinks it’s fairly amusing when I’m she-monster. My parents nag at me to be more less Mike Tyson and more Mother Teresa. My driver friends have my back by swearing with me. I’m glad there’s drivers camaraderie.

Driving in Singapore can be stressful. It’s so congested and most drivers (myself included sometimes) are so impatient. And reckless. And stupid. And are pricks (Yes BMW drivers I’m referring to you guys). And think I can be bullied because I’m female and drive a small and cute car. YOU ARE WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG.

So. Other than weeding out all the fucking incompetent drivers, I should be able to be more zen on the roads. Either that or I better go buy a bat to prepare for the day I get into road rage with another driver.

Oh dear. I really need anger management classes.

xoxoxoxo.

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