Just when I thought nothing could raise my stress levels further, my dear daughter contrived to pass her learner’s licence. I immediately fell into circular-breathing exercises but my meditation was rudely interrupted by my wife’s sympathetic yet sharp exhortation to “man up”.
I came close to cracking when my son hit the road five years ago. Hours of playing Grand Theft Auto had left an indelible mark on Zac, whose over-zealousness manifested in bouts of abusive criticism of fellow road-users. I gave him a 15% chance of passing the driver’s licence test, which he duly sailed through. Sarah, on the other hand, is a petite, and thankfully polite, young woman. She’s unlikely to as much as scowl at another driver. ...
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