Two weeks flew by after fiasco Yukon, and my hormones were flaring wild fires that Keith knew were impossible to extinguish.  My body braced its self for impending labor, but my brain was not along for the ride.  After giving birth to two kids, the only visions of labor I wanted were #1: hugging the anesthesiologist after my epidural and #2: the resulting gooey, wet, screaming little human in my arms.  Despite Keith’s plea that we wait until after “the baby” (code for until you are less of a crazy person), I continued my hunt for a non-van vehicle to comfortably fit our beaming, cool family.

Side note, what a lame name, mini-van.   I mean come on, as if driving a bus is not demeaning enough, it is named like an appetizer (think mini corn dogs, mini pizzas).  Why not family-van or just frickin’-huge-car?  Apparently, we owe the nomenclature to a car company.  “On November 2nd, 1983, the world’s first minivan rolled off of Chrysler’s assembly line. It was the vehicle that saved Chrysler from financial doom — and in the process, shaped the automotive landscape for thirty years to come” (http://gizmodo.com/30-years-ago-today-chrylser-invented-the-minivan-and-1457451986).  Gee, thank you Chrysler!  You saved yourself from doom, but are happily squelching the lives of all the once cool moms like me.

Back to the important stuff.   I spent a good chunk of time Googling, browsing, and immersing myself in every used large vehicle that I could possibly convince Keith we should afford.  After a productive study, I determined the Escalade was our perfect match.   A 40-year-old white woman raised in Westchester County would look like a damn fool blasting Tupac in a minivan, but in an Escalade, it is perfectly acceptable, even admirable.  Despite the price tag, a used Escalade is a fine investment in whatever dregs of hotness I had left.  There’s plenty of time to raise the million dollars required to send three kids to college, so an ample car payment is really no biggeeeeee, Keith….

I won!  Keith and I would go to the Cadillac dealer along with a brief pit stop at the Infinity dealer.   So what, I was due to birth a child from my loins that week, and it happened to be nearly 100 degrees that day….  My mom was in town, and I was not going to waste the free babysitter.   Reluctantly yet pseudo- good-naturedly (he is Keith after all), we headed to the Infinity dealer.  The one used SUV we could afford was conveniently parked outside in the blazing sun.  We pawed through it, and deemed it unsuitable, much to the salesman’s relief.  He was obviously “worried” a woman in my fragile state would pass out or break water all over the car’s creamy latte leather interior.  Rather than working to sell us a car, he pushed us off the lot to avoid a pregger catastrophe.  I should have sued for discrimination and come out with a brand new LX 570.  Next time.

Upwards and onward to heaven.  How do rich people shop for cars, along with less rich people who blow their credit or sell illegal substances?  Spend a few moments in the Cadillac dealership to find out.  If the dealerships that pride themselves on their fleets of minivans, overzealous sales people, and free stale popcorn are the coach of the car world, Cadillac is first class all the way, baby.  It is not about everything they do offer, it’s what they don’t.  No one hounds you when you walk in, chases you when you walk out, or gleefully tells you to help yourself to free coffee and plant your kids in the filthy play area.  Instead, the vibe is minimalist.  The salesmen know if you got the dough, you leave with a car, and if not, they won’t waste words.  This kind of nonchalance always makes me want something more- you know, like the guy you just knew you could convert into a boyfriend if he would just stop selling coke or watching My Little Pony repeats.

After perching myself and my belly on the end of a sleek couch for a good fifteen minutes, a gentleman sauntered up to help us.  I smiled brightly: “We are here to look at the used white Escalade we found online.”  No smile in return.  Instead, he sighed.  “I guess I can show you that.”  After poking around for a few minutes, we had the audacity to suggest a test drive, and the salesman complied.  Along the way, he did little to promote the car but mentioned that they had a used shiny BLACK Escalade inside that we could look at.  He could give us a hell of a deal.  I tugged on Keith’s shirt. Pleeeeeaaaase! Keith submitted.

The barely used Escalade glowed on the showroom floor like an unaffordable beacon of hope.  I crawled in, and parked my tush on room temperature butter inside a space shuttle.  It was the perfect mix of bling, bleeps, and other unnecessary luxuries I had to have.  Even respectable Keith, Mr. Sane and Practical, was salivating.  I gloated as Keith’s commitment to the minivan dissolved into questions studded with vocabulary like suspension, chassis, and other things I could care less about.  I was too busy envisioning myself charging down the highway, moonroof down, hair blowing in the wind (on a day lacking humidity), blasting explicit lyrics, with all my cool sexy restored. We needed this!

Tragically, a problem ensued when we got right down to it.  What was this good deal this salesman had promised us? 80 thousand????? Yes, EIGHTY.  Say what?????  Whether it is Benjamins, dinero, or just plain dolla dolla bills, Keith and I could never make it rain that hard.  Unless….let’s be creative here…. we took it out of our 401K or the kids’ 529 accounts.  Even I could recognize that this might seem, well, slightly “irresponsible.” UGH!  My guts knotted, and my self-esteem plummeted into the lustrous concrete of the showroom floor in a puddle of defeat.

Not only would I be a mushy mess of flab once I birthed this baby, I would be a mushy mess of flab rolling in a minivan.  I would be a woman only Keith could find sexyish.  And for some chilling reason, Keith’s unconditional love was never enough to make me feel beautiful and whole.

Image taken from-http://www.rantcars.com/