And I'm here to make a confession.
For those of you that know me, this might come as a surprise. The shock for some of you may be the content, but most of you will just be blown away that I've actually admitted it to myself.
So, without further adieu...
I drive a station wagon.
I like to call it a SportWagon, which is from the German schportvaggon, meaning "To lie to one's self about driving a station wagon." (NOTE: Since my college German teacher has been known to read and comment on this blog, I must confess this is not actually the correct spelling or translation. Call it creative license.)
Ya, whatever. I admit it. It's a station wagon.
Today, as I scrambled to take Claire to the doctor to get the goop looked at once again with only Grace to assist me (surprisingly, she was no help), I was reminded that it's OK to drive a sport....nay...station wagon.
I do like my car. It's not as fun as the two-doors that I've had for the overwhelming majority of my driving career, but today as I pulled my station wagon into the parking lot full of minivans at the pediatrician's, I made peace with the facts.
I drive a station wagon.
2 comments:
Totally better than a minivan! Good work! I vow to never buy a minivan.
Heehee...imagine how many pizza boxes you could fit in that thing!!
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