So my husband drove away from the house this morning in this:
And came home four hours later driving this:
Yes, people. A minivan. I now drive a minivan.
It was as much my decision as his to get a minivan—with three kids plus stroller, passengers, a zillion cloth shopping bags and other gear, it was our only option—but that hasn’t stopped me from giving him the cold shoulder all day for buying it.
I know I am being a spoiled brat to complain about the brand new, unblemished car that is currently making our whole garage smell like it’s fresh off the showroom floor, but For the record, I sent Kevin out with instructions to “get a good deal on a minivan that looks about as trashed as our current Hilander.” Anyone who knows Kevin, though, knows that he loves spending money and he loves shiny things.
So we now own a car that I am not only ashamed to drive because of its minivanishness but also that I am terrified to drive because of my long history for hitting other things with my car. Plus, it being new and all feels like we’re going to own it forever and not just like we’re borrowing it for a couple years. The Sienna came with heated seats but it didn’t come with built-in denial. Blech.
Kevin texted me from the dealership to see if I wanted flames or skulls painted on it to make it look cool, and I replied that yes, I’d love to have something painted on it. Maybe something about lipstick and chickens, for example. Then I asked if he could pick up a pair of mom jeans for me on the way back home so I don’t look weird driving it.
I hope any of you who already drive minivans are not taking too much offense at this post. I’m one of you now, after all, so I figure it’s all cool.
In a very uncool kind of way, of course.