An Issue of VAN-ity

I promised myself. I made a vow. I told myself I’d never let it happen, under any circumstances, ever. And yet I’m considering it. I’m considering buying … a minivan.

I know what you’re thinking: “Hey, I drive a minivan! What’s wrong with that?” Oh, I think you know. Let’s just say you aren’t driving one because you think you look good in it. You drive one because it’s a practical choice for a family. Well I am tired of being practical. We have kids and we buy practical furniture, practical clothing and practical shoes - forgive me if I’m holding onto the last shred of impractical dignity I have by driving a car.

The problem is that my car is getting older and I’m going to have to replace it with something. Based on the cost of vehicles today, my choices are a “pre-owned” Yugo or a minivan. The SUVs are certainly better looking and well within my reach if my kids opt for beauty school, but what if they get into Harvard? Sorry girls, your college savings turned into that Hummer over there. Pretty isn’t it?

What’s worse is that I’m the worst car shopper in the universe. I don’t approach it like anyone else I know. It’s very simple for me. I consider just three factors:

1. Will I look good in this car?
2. Will my kids and all their stuff fit in this car?
3. Does it have a coffee cup holder?

When the talk turns to cylinders, torque and extended warranties, something in my brain just shuts down. Oh, I’m still nodding and watching the salesman’s lips move, but I’m just thinking about #1. And the answer in terms of a minivan is inevitably no. So I’m left with cup holders. Hey, it’s the simple pleasures in life. (Yes, I’m a pathetic excuse for a consumer.)

So I’ve decided to make my decision in the most scientific manner I know, by listing the pros and cons of minivan ownership. I will then determine if the pros are so great as to outweigh my concerns of being thrown into the minivan-driving population of mothers who wear high-waisted jeans and fanny packs. So here goes:

Pros:
You can fit a lot of stuff in it.
Cons:
You look like a nerd.

There you have it. Since, according to my children, I look like a nerd anyway, perhaps the risk isn’t so great. Perhaps I will be fulfilling my destiny. I mean who am I kidding anyway? Do I look like a twenty-something hottie in my Volvo wagon with the dirty cleats hanging over the seats and a soccer ball rolling around in back?

So in an effort to get my mind around the prospect of owning a minivan, I decided to take a look on Amazon for books on minivans. I was lucky enough to stumble on one called “Mom’s trapped in the Minivan,” which by the way is conveniently paired with “Mommy’s locked in the Bathroom” for just $16.94. There’s an exciting line-up.

This finding supports my theory that driving a minivan isn’t all that fun; look, I didn’t find a book titled “Mom’s Trapped in the Mercedes Convertible.” Nor did I find
”Dad’s trapped in the minivan.” Coincidence? I think not.

I know what all of you minivan drivers are thinking. I love my minivan! I love it! And I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way. Most of my friends drive them, and most of them vowed they never would. So we all “jump the shark” at some point in our car-buying lives. Perhaps that day has come for me.

But a Mercedes convertible sure sounds better.