Do possessions define you? Am I my house? Am I my car?
I bought a new car this past weekend. A birthday present, if you will. This is a very cool car. It's got all kinds of bells and whistles. I mean, come on, it has voice command, it knows 1,000 instructions. I can tell it to set the temperature to 74 degrees and it does. Hmm... why aren't there more people like that? I digress...
Here's my only problem with it. It's a mini-van. Minivan's have a bad rep. Did I just automatically turn into a Soccer Mom (or rather, since basketball practice starts today, did I turn into a Basketball Mom)? Or, was I one already, and know I'm just advertising it? Probably the latter. Ok, I admit it. I'm a nauseatingly proud parent - and now I have the car to match.
I'm turning in the Dodge Durango I've had for a few years now. That car was a denial of the soccer-momesque that lies within, but it still was a mom-car. Just a really big one, that ate lots of gas and scared the other cars on the road. Ok, so it was a bullying mom-mobile.
The new one is a Honda Odyssey, blue, and the kids think it's cool. His name is Vincent, but I call him Vinnie.
Come on, folks... Vincent... VanGogh????
I know, I know... it's bad - even for me.