Recently my parents decided to go shopping for two new cars last week. When my mother pulled up in her new car my sister and I both had the same reaction. “It’s a Mini-Van.”
On a side note, my parents now own three different cars and all of those cars are the same colour. I’m sorry, that should with a be a crime. There is no need for three different “champagne” coloured cars. It’s overkill.
Anyways, my mother’s excitement was obvious. “I looked inside and thought WOW! All of us can fit.” Belonging to a family of 8, that’s a huge accomplishment. But that’s the beauty of having three cars, we all don’t have to fit in together. We can separate into teams. Boys against girls even.
So today my mother loaned me her mini-beast to run some errands, make note the errands started at 5:45 in the morning. I have to admit, the van was very comfortable, great stereo. Made me feel finally committed to the fact that I grew up in suburbia. And every time I came to an intersection with another mini-van, which happened quite often, I couldn’t help feel like we were a part of an elite core. Mini-van Brethren.
Despite these wonderful feelings, it’s still a mini-van.
I mean, after all, it is a van.