I've have come to a cruel, cruel, crossroad in life. A crossroad that leads either to eternal youth or the impending reality of settling .
The signs were there all along. I knew it was coming...
I have to get a minivan.
Why is the the thought of this so offensive? I've test driven them, been amazed at their storage capacity, the myriad seat configurations, the sheer number of cupholders that is enough to send one into a beverage induced reverie... but somehow I truly feel that this is the point of no return. A point at which I will have traded in my youth for something more... more... sensible. There, I said it.
Is this the point in life that I am supposed to read How Stella Got Her Groove Back and actually 'get it'? Surely, not yet.
We are still in the process of looking. I think we've narrowed it down to the Odyssey, which could be viewed symbolically...you know, as I commence the next chapter in the epic parental voyage that my life has become. But, mostly we chose it because Consumer Reports gave it a big ole high five. (Sensible, right?) So much for symbolism.
But, it is a fact. In the next month or so, I will be viewing the streets of Albany through the elevated carriage of my very own mom-mobile. You'll know me by the disco ball hanging from the rearview and a bumper sticker that says "This is how I roll". I figure that if I take the 'mini-van as ironic statement on suburban culture' viewpoint I'll feel better about this decision. And by the time I realize that there is no irony, I'll be too busy enjoying the fact that I can now take road trips to IKEA and fill my ample van with big ticket items (instead of the surplus tea lights and picture frames I inevitably end up with).
Maybe, just maybe, this won't be so bad after all.