Driven to distr.....
Cheers to Airman Gabber for providing the impetus.

Remember the thrill of getting your licence? Borrowing the parents car and hooning around the 'burbs with your mates? Parking up somewhere dark and secluded & "christening" the back seat with that special person in your life at that time?

Then remember getting your own wheels - even tho it had 15 different coloured body panels all held together with gaffa tape and bog it still went like a shower of shit. When you could get it started. Those nights of taking it for a pootle just to celebrate the freedom of having a car?

Then as you got better jobs you could trade in the shitheap for something a bit more refined. Or at least something that started every time you turned the key in the ignition. The car was mainly to get you to-and-from work but it was still nice to take for a spin on a Sunday to get to a nice jazz festival in the countryside with the latest girly.
Occasionally one of your mates would stump for a broom-broom with a nice big V8 donk in it and for a few minutes on weekends you could revert to your yoof whilst doing circle work in a secluded gravel carpark somewhere. Provided the cops weren't too close - nothing smells like cop-bait more than a nice dropped Commodore HSV-SS 8 Pack with Holley's and a couple of nice phat Flowmasters.

Now; driving entails dropping off or picking up children from various activities. Lugging green polyethylene bags full of groceries home from the shops or crawling slowly with hundreds of other people to or from your workplace, twice a day. EDIT: For me it includes having to lug 30 odd kg. of tools into the house each night due to some thieving cunts round here! Don't get me started on the fucking inordinately large sums of money you have to hand over each year just to protect yourself from someone making a small ding on your fender!
You could of course take public transport - the planet will thank you by raining on you while you wait for the bus to arrive. Your pride and smugness in saving some money on fuel and parking will be greatly reinforced as you repeatedly get jostled into someone's armpit on the overcrowded train.

Eventually as a bloke you'll suddenly one day realise that "Fuck owning a family sedan/station wagon. Or even having the work ute!" and you'll blow all of your savings on a vehicle with "Ghia", "GT" or some obscure combination of letters and numbers with a dash in the middle in the model name. This often coincides with a marriage breakdown so having a two-seater car is perfectly practical thank you very much!

Finally in about 30-40 years from now your kids will collude with the government and decide that you're no longer even fit to drive and take away your licence. So the car gets sold (along with all of your other possessions) just so your kids can afford to chuck you into a home.
Mind you, aside from childhood this is the only time in your life when you get chauffeured around. So there is that!
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 0:25, 1 reply)

There is defintely a turning point.
I believe it's where a scratch on your paintwork goes from making you laugh, to making you angry.
(username failed moderation, Mon 19 Aug 2013, 8:54, closed)