Today I went from driving this ...
to driving this:
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Still, I'd like you to consider adding to the oxymorons of our world ("jumbo shrimp," "Dodge Ram," "friendly fire") the idea of a "minivan uprade."
First, there's nothing "mini" about a van. And if you're a single woman living in San Francisco, where space is at such a premium that someone literally got killed a few days ago in an argument over a parking spot, can you really consider it an "upgrade"?
You may be familiar with the injury sustained by my BMW Z3 convertible, whose driver-side door was backed into by a symphony-goer as it was sitting innocently, valet-parked, while I had a few drinks with my ex-husband a couple weeks ago. (Having a few drinks with my ex-husband strikes me as oxymoronic as well, or perhaps simply moronic?)
I took the car, christened "Zippy" by my friend V. from whom I bought it, into the auto body shop this morning, then walked a few blocks down to Enterprise to pick up a rental car.
There, I encountered a half-dozen people also waiting for cars, so I put my name in and told the manager I'd walk the few blocks to work and return on my way home.
I was getting ready to leave the office this afternoon when the call came: "Would it be OK if we upgraded you to a minivan?"
I laughed so hard I snorted. Actually, that's not all that rare, but still...
Several hours later, after navigating the mean streets of San Francisco, I am sitting here with a black Dodge Grand Caravan parked outside because it won't fit in my garage.
And tomorrow, I will drive it to work, feeling like I'm at the helm of a Muni bus, sitting high in my captain's chair and blasting music throughout the *two* empty back seats (and storage space!) -- music that minivan will remember from its youth but hasn't been able to enjoy for a while, with all the noisy kids it's had to chauffeur to soccer games.