Mr. E and I have started to fight about buying a car again. He would really like to get a mini van, and I would really rather die than get a mini van. And please don’t leave me comments about automatic sliding side doors because any car we can afford to buy is going to be the old kind. Which also means that right after we figure out how to use the sliding side doors and rave about how convenient they are, they’ll break, and then we’ll find out it costs 9,000 dollars to fix them and the doors will never work again and we’ll have to get into the stupid car Dukes of Hazzard style.
Anyway. The other day, I had this flash of insight? And I realized that the car I really really really want is a Mercedes convertible sports car. In other news, it’s possible I may be in “denial” about my “life situation”. But doesn’t that sound fun to drive?
We rented a Dodge Tremendously Large Traveling Barge when we went to Orange County and Mr. E loved it. It made me feel old and sad. It made me feel like mom hair and elastic waisted jeans came included in the trunk and my assimilation to Total Lameass was just around the corner. I don’t want to drive a Giant Dodge! I want to move to Paris! Or to do something! Fun Sounding and Impractical!
Whenever I tell Mr. E that I want to move to Paris, he tells me he’d rather move to Helsinki. Unfortunately you will recall that Mr. E got his PhD in “Least Lucrative Thing One Can Learn for Nine Years” which apparently they are not hiring for in Helsinki at this time. Or Paris, undoubtedly.
Also, please be aware that it is 100% certain that I Would Haaaaate Paris. I hate cigarette smoke and weird food and languages I can’t understand and strange cheese and food covered with sauce. The entire time I was pregnant in France I ordered off the kids menu and asked to be moved to the non smoking section, so chances are they wouldn’t even let me back in anyway.
But I’m still not buying a mini van.
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