Monday, September 12, 2011

Old enough for a minivan

Let me just start by saying that I hate those stupid secret questions you have to answer when trying to retrieve a forgotten password. I've been trying to hack into my own AT&T account and see what my current text messaging balance is (I got a text from AT&T telling me I was at least $20 over... not good), but I have no clue what my password is. So I've spent the last hour trying to figure out what famous person I would most like to meet, living or dead. Uhh... it seems like the secret question is a little too secret since I have no freaking clue and it's my secret question. I've literally put down every variation of Jerry Seinfeld I can think of and from there I'm plum out of ideas.

But that's beside the point (is there ever really a point?). I was talking to a bunch of ladies in the complex (our complex is considered the Wymount of Ithaca; scary), and they were all commenting on how Suzy (not the real name; I am protecting people's identity here) has the most amazing minivan (I really need to stop using these parenthesis to make side comments). They were lamenting on how Suzy's minivan has cameras in the back and tvs in the front and yadayadayada. What is so disheartening about all this is not that Suzy has a camera and a tv and I have a civic that barely holds two carseats, but that I have reached an age where a 'cool' minivan deserves the envying of my friends. I'm that old. Minivans! Imagine! I remember playing MASH as a kid and inevitably the car that was undesirable was either a garbage truck (which would actually be sort of cool... damn these parentheses!) or a minivan. Now look at me. Drooling over Suzy's van because it can fit a big stroller plus all your groceries plus the strangely huge umbrella I seem to be lugging around! Such luxury.

And it gets worse. It really hit me I was old when I was talking to all the ladies and someone mentioned bunions, which naturally led to comparing and contrasting bunions. I am fortunate to not have any bunions, but the fact that it did not strike me as strange or frightening that these women were comparing bunion surgery scars, leads  me to believe I am no longer 26, but 86. Put me in a home now, because I'm looking longingly at minivans and thinking about the recovery time of a bunion surgery. I am old.