The barren woman's hate list: item #7 - Baby on Board stickers

Let's face it, it was only a matter of time before I turned my attention to these things.

To be honest, they irritated me even before the fertility stuff. Are those of us unfortunate enough to be driving behind these muppets supposed to slap our foreheads sheepishly and say "Darn it! I WAS going to rear-end you and total both our cars, but now I know there's a kid involved I'll refrain." Nowadays, as you might imagine, the stickers positively incense me.

I mean, they're bragging. That's it, pure and simple. They scream "I'm fertile! I'm fertile! I'm fertile!" in a loud voice. People may as well tape photos of their vaginas, cocks and balls to their rear windscreen, accompanied by a sign that says: "The collection of hairy objects pictured above are all in fine working order!"

I was expressing these opinions publicly once, and was told rather sniffily that Baby on Board stickers actually are very sensible because they alert the emergency services to look for a baby when they attend the scene of a car crash.

Big hairy bollocks. No, they don't. You're not going to tell me paramedics will only consider the prospect that a child might be aboard if they see one of those stickers! I'd imagine that the first thing ambulance crews are trained to do is assess the vehicle to determine the number of occupants. It beggars belief that they'd only check for kids if instructed to do so by a Little Miss Naughty sign from Mothercare.

Mind you, road rage is not something I've experienced only as a result of recent trauma. I've always been a horribly angry driver. My worst habit - and I've been doing this for years - is to bray "Come on, let's be FAHKING 'AVIN YA!" in a deranged fake Cockney accent when traffic lights turn green and the person at the front of the queue isn't IMMEDIATELY poised to pull away.

I also hate over-engineered gadgets in cars, such as the thermometer in mine that DING-DING-DINGs alarmingly if the temperature drops below 3 degrees. It does this in the middle of driving, and scares the bejesus out of me every time. In fact, mark my words, if I'm ever in a one-car crash that seems to defy explanation as to how it happened, it will be because of that stupid thermometer dinging in my ear. I've been known to shout at it - hubby once climbed into the car just as I was roaring "Shut up! I don't care how cold it is! I COULD - NOT - GIVE - A - TOSS!" He got that look on his face, the one that says "What have I married?".

There's a good reason why the scene in Fawlty Towers where Basil batters seven shades of shit out of his car with a branch is one of my favourite comedy moments ever. I can actually see myself doing the same thing.

Yes, when all's said and done, it's not really a big surprise that fertility stuff has turned me into a boiling, raging monster. I was halfway there already.