Yesterday, my husband and I took a little road trip to New York to pick up our heaviest eBay purchase to date. It took around 10 hours. Four hours there, four hours back, with various stops for things like fuel and Corn Nuts. The most embarrassing thing was that we accidentally wore matching outfits. The second most embarrassing thing was that we bought a minivan.
My plan when we picked up the van was to take a picture of me lying dramatically on the hood, giving my saddest "I've been dethroned from coolness" face while Austin flashed a thumbs up over his dream car. But after driving it for .08 seconds, I realized my shame was vain and THERE ARE TWELVE CUP HOLDERS.
I have never driven a car made past 1999. Did you guys know they put something on the steering wheel so you can magically change the radio and adjust the volume like Merlin the Wizard? I can also open doors and lock/unlock the car with an adorable button the size of an Oreo. I really love that Oreo button. Additionally, there is cruise control and air conditioning that works, so I don't know why I was being such an a**hat.
My lifelong hesitancy over driving a minivan is not original. It is the same boring reason we all have -- to avoiding becoming "that mom." The mom cruising with her windows down, singing all the wrong words to a Coldplay song while a 23-year-old passerby named "Dylan" or "Brody" or "Tyler" sadly shakes his head.
No one wants to be uncool.
The thing about being cool when you're 29 is that we're not in high school anymore, so I don't actually care about what Brodes thinks of my swagger wagon and side braid. That said, there is still pride to be relinquished and eye-rolling to cease and the idea that I look like such a stupid idiot to put to rest.
Time. It takes time. And the charming realizations of trunk space and a moonroof.
RIP rusty Subaru. I will miss your cramped leg room, cowgirl aura and hipster appeal. I will not miss your one, faulty cup holder.
Drive on, mamas.