A Chardonnay-fueled Rant About Minivans...buckle-up!

I’m about half way through my Tuesday night glass of vino, so I’m a little chatty, which is perfect since nothing really interesting happened in my life today other than the phone call I got from a Toyota of Richardson salesman we test drove with this past Saturday. His name was Chad.

As promised, Chad dutifully followed up with us to see what we thought about the 2010 4Runner we drove. I told him we were convinced that Toyotas are great cars, but were generally underwhelmed with the functionality of that particular SUV. Meaning, we need a little more space in the back and a third-row option. Like a good salesman, he excitedly announced that he had the perfect alternative vehicle for us: a Toyota Highlander.

This, my friends, is a minivan.

“I’m not driving a minivan!” I yell at Chad over the phone.

“It’s a crossover”, he counters.

“Crossover my keister, Chadwick. No can do, buddy.”

To me, anything that has more than four doors, seats eight and is as close to the ground as a car, is a minivan.

Now, if you’ve read my previous post Planned Parenthood, you know that Sweetness and I had been dating for a little over a year when I got knocked up and we decided to get hitched. I was thoroughly enjoying my life of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. (That statement was for my mom -- Hi Mom!-- who says she cringes every time she reads my blog. I love to get reactions out of her. Stay tuned for my book, “Wayward Daughters and the Mothers Who Love Them”). So anyway, being a mom was the last thing on my mind. And I sure as hell had no plans to give some car dealership my sporty little BMW convertible in an exchange for a minivan.

I’ve seen it happen too many times. First, it’s a minivan, then it’s Keds, capri pants and twin sets. You start looking for “comfortable”, “roomy” clothes when you go shopping. You cut your hair because it’s “easier”. If you see a woman in heels higher than three inches you assume she’s a stripper. And worse yet, you sit around lamenting with your friends, “Girl, I need to get my sexy back.”

Un, un. I’m not going down like that! I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

It’ll be a cold day in Hades before you see me behind the wheel of a minivan. I don’t care how functional and roomy they are. Being a wife and mom is challenging enough, I’m NOT adding "minivan driver" to that list. Call me shallow if you want, you won’t be the first.

Until next time...