Mini-Vans

Wow, so I see my online wine tasting experiment is doing quite well. I'm predicting another half-day therapy session in my near future.

Anyway, that's not what I want to talk about today.

Back in high school I made a promise to myself that, no matter what, I would never, NEVER EVER, drive a minivan. Not even if I had eight kids, they were going to cram themselves into whatever vehicle I owned, just as long as I had my own seat. Even if their exit from, let's say, a Toyota Prius, resembled that of confetti from a champagne party popper, I was not going to give in to the incessant beckoning of the mommy-mobile.

I made this promise after enduring three grueling years of driving my mother's 1985 white Plymouth Voyager, with it's sun-bleached, delaminated wood paneling, and fabric that no longer adhered to its ceiling, grazing my head as I drove, so by the time I reached school, I looked as if I had rubbed a helium balloon against my hair atleast 30 times.

Now, I know a lot of you out there L.O.V.E. your minivan. It's so easy to get the kids in and out, you say. The doors open and shut by themselves, and best of all you can play Kanye through your iPod dock, while the kids listen to the warblings of the Doodlebops using their earmuffs, er...I mean, headphones in the back seat.

Yep, it's practical, I agree. Maybe the most practical vehicle out there. And I know so many of you moms absolutely could not go on without your minivans. And more power to you, I say. You submitted to your practical side, and I commend you for that. In a few years, you'll be trading-in your Jimmy Choo's for Easy Spirits, but that's OKAY, because you want to be comfortable, and it is YOU that matters.

As for me, for now, no minivan. So don't try to intimidate me, minivan mafia, I will not budge on this one.

Okay, so, now that I've lost about 85% of my audience (and friends), let's move on to how I feel about crockpots. Maybe I can lose my last two readers. Mom? Marsha? Are you still there?