To minivan or not to minivan, that is the question
That is the question. How it could ever be in question is still blowing my mind. My mind, the one who perceived minivans as the kiss of death, the ultimate white flag surrendering to Colonel Suburbia. I still remember when my sister-in-law got one. I was still living in manhattan (a world away) and shopping at Forever 21, when my then boyfriend, now husband, and I went to visit them in their suburban enclave. I think I gagged when we pulled up to their drive-way. “What is that?” I questioned, pointing at the Nissan Quest occupying what seemed to be two parking spaces. “Looks like a mini-van,” my husband said, “I guess she bit the bullet.” “How could she?” I said. “Yeah,” my husband said, “that’s pretty bad.” “I will NEVER have a mini-van!” I said, “shoot me if I do.”
“Shoot me if I do” Jolie Jalbert 2007
Cut to me…now. Two kids later. Yesterday I nailed my son’s head for the zillionth time putting him into his car seat while my daughter was screaming her head off next to him. Over Christmas my husband backed into a moving car in the Toys R Us parking lot because our double stroller was obstructing his view, and just last week I had to climb in the back seat of our Nissan Murano to hold the pacifyer in my daughter’s mouth while my husband drove. I was jammed in between two car seats, knees to chin. Who knew a mid-sized SUV wouldn’t be big enough for a family of four?
My husband has subtly dropped hints lately that he thinks we need a mini-van. I know he doesn’t want to admit defeat either. I just think he doesn’t want his wife to lose all sex appeal that has been dwindling more and more since child number two. It’s like, not only does my wife wear sweats (never velour sweatsuits, never!!!!) and ugly headbands, but now she’s the conductor of her own dork mobile. Let’s be honest, have you ever turned your head at a woman in a mini-van? Hell no. Elle Macpherson could be driving one in a lace teddy and she’d still somehow look more like Mrs. Brady.
Yet still, I find myself coveting. The other day, in the Wild by Nature parking lot. I stared a woman down until she looked at me. I was trying to nudge my trunk open with hands full of groceries while she had opened her sliding van door with a click while her kids jumped into their car seats. I had to explain. “I was just checking out your (insert cough) mini-van.” “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t want to get it but my husband made me.” Hmm. I thought. He must be one of those men who wants to keep their wife down. Like some Arabs. The mini-van is the American version of the head scarf. “I’m with you,” I said. In her defense she was hauling three kids out of it. “Do you like the Town and Country?” I found myself saying. Oh, if my city girlfriends could hear me now! I thought. She said she liked it just fine, and went on her way. She seemed as beaten down by motherhood as I was. I wanted to follow her. I wanted to sing, in the tune of the Twisted Sister song, “we don’t have to take it, no, we don’t have to take it!”
The designers of mini-vans must be men. I can see them now all sitting at a round table drawing plans for the ugliest vehicle known to man. “I know,” one says, “let’s make it unbelievably functional so they can’t resist.” “Yes,” another says, “but make it ridiculously unsexy so other men won’t be checking out our wives while we’re at work surfing porn sites.”
Okay, that’s a bit extreme, but you know a woman didn’t design it. If she did, I bet she is in dire need of a make-over, and she definitely never drove a Porsche with an evening gown on (neither have I, but it sounds hot).
So, the question remains, to mini or not to mini. Do they make a hybrid mini-van? At least I could suffer in my ugliness knowing I was saving the planning, like a martyrdom of sorts. We’ll see. If anyone can find me a pic of a hot mini-van driver I will consider it. Good luck!
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