The day I have been dreaming about since the birth of my first child finally arrived.
We bought a minivan.
Now before you go laughing and thinking I’m ridiculous for fantasizing about a car, let me tell you, you can keep your steamy dreams about Brad Pitt and George Clooney. I like to close my eyes and dream about automatic doors and vehicles that seat more than four people.
Pathetic? Maybe. But it’s my fantasy and this weekend, it came true.
However, it wasn’t without its challenges.
Why does car shopping have to be so painful? Why can’t we walk into a dealership and just talk to the actual person making the decision?
The entire car-buying process is truly like a bad reality game show. You talk to a salesperson, he asks you for a number (code for the amount you’d like to spend), you play vague, then he goes back to a mystery room and talks to some man who probably has a microphone hidden under our chair, and returns with some ridiculous offer. This process repeats itself about six times until an agreement is reached. At which point, you have eaten 42 mints, drank three bottles of water, and listened to elevator music more times than the human ear can take.
Buying a car makes me want to throw up. I hated the entire process.
It’s a power struggle over money – something that has never been appealing to me.
I have a close friend who told me to take our children with us to the dealership and not feed them lunch. Let them run around the showroom and use it as their playground. She did that and was out of there within an hour.
I, however, couldn’t take that stress level and opted for a sitter. Thank goodness I did because it was hours of my life I’ll never get back.
However, at the end of that long and painful experience, we have our minivan.
I will now start carrying around orange slices in my purse and try not to add those family stick figure decals to my back windshield. Seeing that I can’t give up all my youth in one sitting, perhaps I’ll substitute some Grateful Dead bears decals instead. Nothing like a hippy mom in a rockin’ minivan.
Danielle Herzog is a freelance writer and stay-at-home mom to two children.
Read her every Wednesday on momaha.
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