By the time you read this, I shall be married. And the happiest motoring hack in town, writes Kilian Doyle.
Apologies to all the single laydeez out there who may have taken a shine to this particular banana-headed misanthrope, but thems is the breaks.
My wife and I are now, according to the Central Statistics Office, a two-car family. Her banjaxed old Suzuki Swift, in which I took my first, tentative steps in this, my latest mission to become a fully-licenced driver, is now a younger sister to my little green Bavarian princess.
I love the Suzuki, although I have of late lost all interest in driving her. She's special. Bit slow off the mark, not the prettiest flower in the bed, but I love her like any father would love his new step-daughter.
Both Mrs Emissions and I are huge fans of Swiss Tony from the sadly discontinued Fast Show. 'Er indoors suggested that the self-same silver-haired and equally silver-tongued Casanova would probably say, at a time like this, that your driving career is a bit like getting married to a beautiful woman. I agreed with her. That's my job now.
You start off young and foolish, over-excited and liable to getting into all manner of scrapes and trouble. You begin with what - in hindsight - might be a useless and ugly model, one that'll probably end up breaking your heart. But you love her because she's the first.
You may even think you'll never drive anything else. Sometimes, you never do, you just grow old and end up on the scrapheap together, never parted since the first time you stuck your key in her ignition.
You will have all manner of adventures together learning the proverbial ropes. You will become inseparable. Even if she is a bit of a wagon, you'll show her off with pride, especially to your mates who haven't got one. You spend every spare minute polishing and buffing her bulges and admiring her curves.
Ultimately, most of us move on. We grow apart, grow anxious for new experiences, new thrills.
But, no matter how your relationship ends, you'll always remember your first with fondness, even when you've moved on to something bigger and better. She opened your eyes to the possibilities.
Eventually, the big day comes. Your driving test. Not everyone passes first time. It can often be an unmitigated disaster. You get too nervous, you're too eager, you forget your lines or you simply bottle it and run off home, deciding it was a terrible idea in the first place.
You may recoil in horror at what has happened. You may be so emotionally scarred that you throw away your keys and vow never to drive a car again.
But you probably won't. You'll give it another go. You may apply to sit your test again in the same centre, or you may abandon that location altogether and seek pastures new.
Finally, the wait is over. You pass. If you have been a good provisional driver, you will then be able to avail of the forbidden pleasures of motorway driving - in motoring terms, going the whole way.
If, like most of us, you haven't been so good and are already well-versed in the art of negotiating the fast lane, it'll all be old hat to you and the thrill won't be the same.
Still, the advantage is you can now do it anytime you like without fear of recriminations. You may encounter a few bumps on the way. Fear not - you are now fully covered in both in the eyes of the law and the silver-haired fella above. And I don't mean Swiss Tony.