So, I sort of brag about the fact that I don’t drive a
mom-mobile mini-van, but it occurs to me that I’ve never explained why.
That’s right, folks, I’m vain. I see mini-vans all over the place, and I can’t help but think that a little part of your youthful soul gets signed away on the bottom line at the car dealership when you drive away in one. Remember when you were cool? Or at least THOUGHT you were cool?
I’m not quite ready to give that teeny itty bitty shred of cool that I like to believe I have away to the Dealership of Death yet. Hell, it was hard for me to give in to driving an automatic transmission. A mini-van would send me into an existential crisis the likes of which my husband would not be able to abide. Seriously.
So I drive a grey sedan. With a butt warmer.