I have now had a) one driving lesson yesterday and b) two other driving attempts today behind the wheel of our stereoless (grrrr) car. I understand why people say your spouse shouldn't teach you. It's not that Brent is impatient at all. In fact, he's very outwardly calm and gentle and sensible. However, I *know* him. I know him so well that I can feel the waves of worry coming off him at every intersection. My driving instructor, Eleanor, could be totally freaking out, but I only just met her. I wouldn't have any idea how to tell if she was having some kind of anxiety attack!

Don't get me wrong. I think I'm doing OK. I haven't hit anything, or had anyone use their horn, or used my indicator on the wrong side, or not given way to the right at a roundabout. (I had some issues with turning into our driveway. It's a dodgy one though, with a ditch on either side.) But this is a weird kind of skill. It's not like the usual sorts of things I'm really good at picking up: database searches, historical facts, the mood in a room full of people, lyrics, gossip, recipes. Well, I suppose it's most like cooking, really. You have to keep an eye on several things at once and make certain events happen in the right order. Of course, with cooking you don't have to do anything with your *feet*. And if you forget to put the peas on or add the baking powder, that doesn't necessarily mean you're going to kill or maim someone. You could just eat later after the peas get done, or end up with flat muffins.

My head aches. And I'm learning in an automatic car! As Jane at work says, that's not even real driving! Imagine if I had to change gears!

Actually, let's not imagine that.