Funny how the type of my car totally commands how I go about
my day: How I dress, how I walk/jump/hop/strut in & out of it, and how I
communicate with fellow drivers on the street. My car dictates how I behave. It
frames my state of mind. My car drives me even though I seem to be the one
steering and shifting gear.
My car, for the past 5 years, designated me as a typical
soccer mom. A heavy and “safe” 7-seater minivan that drives like a school bus,
my Routan has faithfully driven my kids to school, soccer practice, karate,
ballet, tennis, and everything in between. Naturally my work clothes were already
boxed and out came my Lulu Lemons in all their galore. At least I did insist on
style even though in the end, yoga pants and sneakers have become my wardrobe
staples and in all honesty, they all looked and felt the same.
With three kids and a suburban lifestyle, a minivan is not
just a car. It’s a mobile kitchen, a children’s closet, a laundry basket and in
most cases a composting dump. When I calculate the average time I spend in my
car per day, over 5 years, it amounts to 5 to 6 hours PER DAY! Yeah, ask the
twitch in my right knee. It’s screaming MERCYYYYY…
Even when I do try to rise to a rare occasion and feel that
urge to dress up, the glory of the moment only lasts till I reach my
destination: be it a fancy dinner, a show or just a night in the MPD. The
minute I step out of my Navy Blue Routan I get that feeling that people see through my
mini skirt and high heels. Oblivious to my shadowy eyes and glossed up lips, all
they see is a flashy blue Nike Fusion and thermal tights. I sigh inwardly and
resign to the fact that this is what I am: a soccer mom who should be doing
laundry and cleaning up my boys’ mess in their bathroom right now.
Five years of that vicious cycle till I went one day to my
VW serve and they offered me a loaner car till mine was fixed. As I stepped
outside the center, a shiny red CC was waiting for me, brand new in all its blue
plastic. You wouldn’t believe but in my
loaner CC, I rushed home and unconsciously changed in skinny jeans and fancy
booties and headed back out, ready to face the world as a Foxy suburban mom…
whatever that means.
I’ve had my CC for a month. YES MY CC! and I’ve changed so
much since. I even watch what I eat because a dew extra pounds simply won’t do
with my new self image. I still did my errands and gazillion activities but
with some drastic measures: No food allowed within the premises, No shoes off,
Clothes changed should and must be neatly taken out before your feet touch
solid ground, and if you absolutely have to ride my car, you’d better act like
a sophisticated suburban kid too!
Surprisingly, I never had to drill any of these into their
young rebellious minds. The CC had gotten to them too.
Every morning Walid would nudge me to call the service
center: Have they forgotten about us? He’d ask.. every morning I would calmly
promise to call and follow-up, knowing well that I don’t even have their number
and won’t bother to look it up!
Yeah, my car does govern my life and I can’t wait to ditch
the yoga pants and let my hair catch the wind in a uhummm not-a-routan-mobile J
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