A few years ago we bought our first fun car. We threw utilitarianism, sensibility and restraint to the wind and bought a BMW 330xi. Not only did we buy one, but we custom ordered it. It had a rich dark brown leather interior and a fast silver exterior. A combo that was not made in the factory so was made especially for us overseas. And we loved it.
We went on dates in it, took weekend jaunts in it and took it for plenty of plain old joy rides. It had all-wheel drive so I could trust it to get me through any sort of weather in these Virginia mountains. And for the first time, I could drive into the doctor's lot and not get heckled. (A typical line from one of my colleagues: " Hey, when did they start letting the housekeepers park here?" Nice.)
It really was the perfect car. Until. Until the day came that the children no longer spit up, threw food nor required carseats... so we started letting them ride in it with us. And it was so nice to jet around town in a small car as opposed to the Suburban. The gas guzzling tank that, while essential for beach trips and other travel, is not ideal for around town. Takes twice as long to do anything in the Suburban as it does in a car. Parking is an art form, merging is difficult and vaulting into it takes well-honed skillz.
The problem began to arise about a year ago when the children's hineys grew and it came to be that the three of them no longer fit comfortably in the back seat of the BMW together. So some questions arose. Do we go back to the Suburban for all in-town family transportation? Or do we look for a more appropriately sized car and *gasp* sell the BMW?
The idea was just too horrifying to consider until two events occurred on the very same day a few months ago. One of our anesthesiologist friends asked Andrew if he'd ever consider buying his almost-new Volvo Cross Country, and one of my orthopaedic surgeon colleagues stopped me in the OR and said, "I know this is kinda random, but I've always coveted your car and if you ever want to sell it, I'll give you whatever you want for it."
So, to make a long story short, we did a three way car swap. Now, the cars in the doctor's parking lot haven't changed. They just have different owners. I do find myself looking longingly at my pretty car every now and then but I am happy to report that it's being well taken care of. It's new owner has taken pity on me and doesn't often mention how much he likes it, how well it accelerates or how valets push each other around to see who gets to go park it.
And we really are thrilled to have the Volvo. It has been problem free. (Aside from the fact the girls call it the Vulva...but we're working on that.) It has two jump seats in the back so it accomodates seven comfortably. We get ease of driving and high capacity. Plus, we can easily separate the children when there is in-fighting and civil unrest.
Additionally, it was a great financial deal so we ended up with a wad of cash in our pockets to boot. And Andrew has promised me that as soon as the rooster and his hens fly the coop, we will once again own a fun car.
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