This BRDE song is more plaintive than most. Rather like a dove, moaning for lost love...or maybe forcasting rain. This song is a complaint about the design of automobiles, driven by women but apparently designed by men. Big men.
My husband is six feet tall. His seat belt crosses over his left shoulder nicely and tucks into its socket at the hip. I am five feet, four inches tall, and my seat belt slices the left side of my neck, works at removing my right boob, and fastens just east of my right bun(s). There is no way to adjust the seat belt.
Not comfortable. Downright dangerous.
I say this because a friend was T-boned by a red-light-runner just a week ago. Not only did the seat belt damage her but the airbag and the steering wheel crushed her chest, damaging her lungs. She will be in the hospital and then rehab for several weeks.
I wonder if auto manufacturers employ women engineers. And do those women ever sit in the driver's seat of vehicles being designed? Do they speak, offer opinions, veto decisions?
Gosh, I hope so.
