When I drop guy friends off at home, I tend to just drive away.  When I drop off a female friend, I sit in my car and watch her walk to the door and fumble for her keys.  I don’t leave until her house swallows her up.

And what would happen if the unspeakable happened and some bad person actually jumped out of a bush and attacked her as she traversed the short distance from car to home?  I think it’s pretty obvious.  I’d spring from my car and do a flying kick, spinning madly around as I skillfully connected the tip of my foot with his solar plexus.  An uppercut to the chin later, he’d be a crumpled heap on the sidewalk.

Fortunately, history has proven that fisticuffs are never going to be necessary; my searching, steady gaze is enough to keep the evildoers at bay.  And then I drive home.