fast driving by a "woman driver"

Are you old enough to remember how men would say, patronizingly, "Woman driver," as a widespread social joke? I remember men saying that on tv and in pop culture when I was a kid. At least my dad never said it. He might have been somewhat sexist inside his Southern Baptist-rebel head, but in real life, he never said anything to his 3 daughters to imply they were lesser, they could not throw footballs or play baseball, go to college, or do anything they wanted to do in life. But when it came to driving, he visibly shuddered at the thought of us getting in a car with a boy and driving off. Death would ensue, was the unspoken feeling that came from his look of horror and distaste. He'd lost three siblings by the time he was 14, so he knew death. None of them died in a car crash---but one, his favorite brother, was killed in a tractor roll-over when he was 18. We went out on our dates, with a boy, in a car, alone---but only with strong mom support and with the promise of getting home on time or hell to pay.
If only Dad could have seen me on the racetrack at Buttonwillow Speedway last week, in my new fast car, the Jaguar of my dreams for 20 years now, and I just got it---going through the curves quickly and competently but ONLY after hours of instruction in class and in short car clinics prior to revving that baby up to 110 on the short straightaways. If we'd been from the higher social classes who took driving skills more seriously and had the resources to pay for lessons, we'd have been in charge, not left to the mercy of our hapless 16-year-old dates. Dad could have felt far better about his daughter being at the wheel, in control of the speed and the destination. Rather than the old trick of my mom's, "Always keep a dime in your pocket for the payphone, so you can call home if you want us to come and get you," we could have kicked any wayward teenage suckers out of our cars and driven ourselves home safely. But I survived. We all did, at least so far. Dad scared me enough so that I kept a firm rein on any wild-driving dates, which I didn't really have anyway--I dated the nice, respectful types. Money isn't everything--caring is. Dad showed it the best he could with what he had. And I guess it worked.