The number of women drink drivers is rising. That’s what the road safety campaigners are telling us.
Recent reports show women make up 20 per cent of drink drivers – which is up from 17 percent a decade ago. But many women don’t even know they’re at risk.
For Angela Mollard, these statistics are close to home. She writes:
It was a year ago, almost to the day. I’d been invited to a Christmas dinner with the editors of a magazine I write for and had rushed there late, throwing instructions to the babysitter as I dashed out the door.
I’d considered taking the bus but I’m not a big drinker. I’m also a dreadful tight-arse so a taxi was out of the question. We were dining at Toko in Surry Hills – a vibey Japanese place big on looks, low on carbs. Think shaved zucchini, salmon tartare, an oyster – possibly two.
My glass was filled before I even sat down. A sauvignon – sharper than usual it seemed. Later, I’d realise why: 10 hours had passed since the morning’s porridge and a frantically busy day meant I hadn’t eaten since.
A good two decades of drinking has taught me this: the first glass is always the best, the juiciest conversations occur midway through the second, a third makes me say things I regret, a fourth and I’ve lost one of life’s precious days to a hangover.
This night was a two glasser. But the gossip was great – the celeb who neglected to get a wax before her bikini photoshoot, the dodgy agent, the stroppy stylist. Mag girls can always be relied upon for an entertaining night.
When I left three hours later I was happy. Not drunk happy, chatty happy. I’d had my two glasses but still felt suspiciously hungry. I almost swung through McDonalds on the way home.
Coasting down the hill I spotted them. Lights bright, reflector jackets beckoning. Not again. One of the downsides of appearing on the Today show early on Sunday mornings is that a full-face of make-up is like a red rag to a cop. They breathalyse me for a pastime.
I knew the schtick. Yes, officer, I’ve been drinking. Wine. Two glasses. Over three hours. I blew down the tube and checked the time. Damn, I’d owe the babysitter another fiver (did I mention I’m a tight arse?).