This morning was a first for me: I lusted after a...oh, man, this is hard to admit...a minivan.
I was in the parking lot of our neighborhood grocery store, having just wrestled the boy into his carseat and pinned down his madly flailing tentacles long enough to strap him in, when I noticed. It. Parked next to me. Emanating subtle whiffs of soccer shoes and sensible television viewing limits, lumpen and dull.
I stared as a woman walked up to the side door and effortlessly slide it aside to reveal a vast acreage of maroon-colored leather. She began loading in her multitudes of grocery bags as if tossing dandelion fluff to the four winds, and even though she must have packed in eight full bags there was still room for a fully-grown African rhino and a salsa band.
Meanwhile, I struggled to situate Riley's carseat, then load my own groceries. Options were limited, as the stroller was taking up the entirety of the trunk, the backseat contained Riley and the backpack carrier, and the front passenger seat was shoved forward to accommodate access to the back. I ended up distributing my bags in various precarious corners, then stole one more look at the minivan before the driver shut the side door. "Oh yeah, baby," I whispered under my breath. "Show me allllll your cargo room."
Then I drove off with a roll of paper towels poking me in the back of the head, my heartrate still elevated from that hot, sexy...MINIVAN.