Honest to fucking god... I dont know how the fuck I ended up with this one (well I do, she had fan-fucking-tasting thrupnies, but that's not the point). So we're car shopping, our current motor deal is coming to an end and we've decided we need to buy one and not just rent hire one as it's dead money. Sensible right? So she mistakenly thinks that a convertible is a terrible idea and not a "sensible" choice for a family of four in a country with shitty weather etc etc blah blah blah.......... I concede there may be more sensible choices but I'd like her to make up her mind after we have at least looked, and heavens fucking forbid.... actually tried the cunting thing before dismissing it... She agrees after a little "heated" conversation, to at least go and look. Man win. We head to the Vauxhall garage where the salesman pops out and asks if he can help... Now I'd already driven this motor but I wanted her to try it and to prove just how great it actually was and that it could work for us. The kids were in tow so that the family are "considered" (they get all fucking precious about us being fucking considerate and shit but who has to dig out valentines gifts and anniversary gifts and shit like that. Men that's fucking who, we do..... They've just gotta sit on their pampered arse and maybe suck our snakes if we've been "considerate" enough by opening our fucking wallets, I digress) So I hop out and offer her to drive as the salesman has to be in the car for insurance etc. Kids all strapped in the back and off they go. I think great I can pop in out of the poxy snow grab a brew and let the salesman do his magic, it's his vocation, it's how he makes money... Man win..... Or not...!!! I sit down and get a pack of biscuits and start to watch the rugby as they are on a test drive. It'll take time..... 6 fucking minutes later (I hadn't dunked a single hobnob) they arive back in the showroom with my litle girl crying. Turns out my Mrs had never driven an automatic and managed to kangaroo the first 200 yards of their journey and then boot the next 200 yards towards red traffic lights where she decelerated form 60-0 in a ploom of smoke and burning rubber giving my littlun fucking whiplash, upon which the salesman terminated the test drive and took over control of the car and returned them back to me... Of course this was all completely my fault as I forced he to try the stupid (wrong it's a mustard little motor) car and we engaged in more "heated" conversations on the way home. Til death us do part.