THIS was the vehicle that was purchased the day we found out that we were chosen to adopt Noah:
Yeah, our first child and the day I found out I bought a freakin’ minivan. And it was me who wanted it and researched it, and found it, and talked my wife into buying it. I know, take away my Man Card.
It was also the vehicle I sold as soon as the divorce became inevitable.
THIS, is the vehicle that was purchased a week before I married my second wife:
Look familiar? That’s cause it’s pretty much identical to the top one with the exception of the color and the ski rack. Disgusting, I know. Too bad you can’t take away a Man Card twice.
Now, I don’t wanna slam minivans entirely cause I know a large number of my followers here own, love, and drive minivans. Truth is, I loved both of those minivans as much as I love my own sexy, sexy feet or my soft silky back hair (which is a lot… both the love and the hair). My minivans were sleek. They were loaded with creature comforts. They were powerful. They had cool automatic sliding doors. They had seat warmers. They dressed me in the mornings and fed me at mealtimes. They even discretely picked my nose for me and flung the evidence out the window at stoplights. They had all sorts of cool stuff.
But, minivans have to go. I don’t think I’ll ever own another minivan. I was able to pass off one failed marriage under the label of irreconcilable differences, but two? That’s when you have to start looking for curses, and the minivan is naturally the first place to put blame. Seriously, had I not purchased the white minivan, everything would probably still be roses, what else could be blamed. Nothing. Exactly. Had I not purchased the second one, well… I wouldn’t have had to go absolutely berserk and do this to it on purpose and just for funsies:
Okay, I did make that part up. I WISH I could have done that to the second minivan. I wish I could have taken that minivan and driven it straight off a cliff or straight into a raging river. With my ex-wife strapped inside. (Kidding, kidding kind of). I wish I could have done a lot of things, but I’ll never have that chance because instead of a minivan, I only have a memory of my wife unexpectedly dropping me off at home, kicking me out of the minivan and saying, “I want a divorce. I’d rather be a single mom than [insert your own line of BS]. Goodbye.” All I have is a memory of watching that van drive away with my wife and daughter inside and me left scratching my head trying to figure out what just happened.
Hmmmm… psychological breakthrough moment. Maybe I don’t like minivans because my last memory of a minivan was a little less than perfect. Kind of like when I couldn’t eat a hoagie for six years because I got stomach flu after I partook. Or the time I didn’t like crapping my pants for almost two decades because I had one really bad experience with it as a boy scout. I came back from the hoagie thing. As for crapping my pants? Well, let’s just say that that one still hasn’t healed and probably never will. You know what? Whoever said time heals all wounds never had a search party sent out for them as they sat in the woods covered in poop. [sigh] Another story for another day.
Anyway, I really don’t know if time will heal the mini-van wound. If time can’t, though, a manly over-compensating 4WD truck sure will. I think I’ll stick with that route for now.
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing