Women prefer driving on LSD

Ironically, the many signs and signals that are meant to guide her to safety dodge and weave, like threatening street toughs at the mouth of an alleyway in a foreign bazaar, flashing knife blades and hungry grins at fat sheep tourists. She sweats while negotiating a lane change, and panics at the sight of glaring red brake lights. But at the airport he smiles assuringly, unaware of her trials, so trusting in the hearty industry of Goodyear and frank words of other big men like Leitz and close-cropped Bates. He slides into the driver's seat where he belongs. Look. See how grateful she is? She asks how Denver was. There's a casserole waiting in the oven. Let's please go home. And watch out for that stop sign, I think it wants to rob us.