So, I have long understood and reluctantly accepted that each passing day makes a little bit older and brings me one day closer to death (ok, so I'm being a bit dramatic, but I only state the facts). Something happened this week, though, that made those harsh, cold realities even more...well, harsh and cold. I don't really know how to explain it...oh, who am I kidding? I know exactly how to explain it....we bought a minivan. Yes. That's what I said. A minivan. Yes, yes, I know. You can all have two minutes to make as many wisecracks about it as you want, but make them good because, once the two minutes are up, we are not discussing it anymore. Ready? Go.
One minute left (Seriously, it's one minute. I'm using a timer).
Ok. Time's up. I hope you got that all out of your system and, while I realize it may not be possible to have it completely out of your system after only two minutes, a deal is a deal. No, I don't care that we didn't shake on it. Time is up.
So, as I was saying, we bought a minivan. Now, I don't think it's any big secret that I have been a secret fan of minivans for quite some time. They typically have a pretty powerful engine and have a ton of space. I have touted the virtues of minivans for years and always thought it would be a great vehicle to have. However, now that we have actually made the commitment to purchase one, I am having a horrific case of buyers remorse. I mean, yes, it does have a remote control that opens and closes the sliding doors. It does have a moonroof. It does have a USB cable to plug in my iPod. It does have the bluetooth setting for my phone. And, the piece de resistance, it has a built in cooler. Yeah, boy. A cooler. You know, for water and juice. Oh, and a V6 engine. Vroom vroom. Wonderful features. Still, with all these wonderful little bells and whistles, it's still, at the heart of it, a minivan. An over sized station wagon. A family car. It's...practical and, as I have said in a previous post, the word "practical" for a car is the kiss of death. In other words, it's not sexy. Nicole suggested we decorate the inside with little Christmas lights. I thought we could upload some Bob Marley into the radio's memory (yes, the car stores music). Maybe we can install some hydraulics and get that bad boy jacked to drive down the road. Eh. I think even if I were to paint flames on the side, install some nitrous, and have skulls for headlights, this car would still not strike anyone as fierce. It is, at it's core, practical. And that one characteristic has now out trumped all other features for me.
With that realization that practicality is now king in my house and sexiness has lost out, I came to the understanding that I am now, officially, middle aged. Now, when other people have a mid-life crisis, they go out and get a young trophy wife and a sports car, boob jobs, motorcycles, or some other crap that they don't need and doesn't suit them. Me, however, I do a mid life crisis by purchasing a vehicle that is so the opposite of young, cool, sexy, vibrant. I went for cargo space, comfortable seats, and decent mpg. Holy crap. What the hell has happened to me? Where did my youth go? When did all of these grey hairs show up? When the hell did I decide remote controlled sliding doors and a back up camera were what was important? I don't know when it happened, but it sure as shit did. And now, as I prepare to go pick up a car that will likely be the car my daughter drives to college (it's already got a moonroof, so she won't have to try and self-install one in a drunken stupor - read my previous post about my cars if you don't know what I'm talking about), I have reluctantly embraced my middle aged version of sexy. So, eat your heart out, Justin, because I brought it back.
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