A Man and a Van

I never thought I'd be attracted to a van driving man, much less one who wore a shirt proclaiming to be The Minivan Man.  Better grab those kids and hide. 

I mean, come on, let's face it: men and vans don't exactly mesh, unless the guy's in his late thirties with three kids (preferably his) in tote.  Even then it's only okay if he had to borrow it from his wife because his car broke-down, was in the shop, had a flat tire, etc.  You get the point. 

So, imagine my distress when I finally saw what Andy (my husband by choice) drove.  No, it wasn't a car; it wasn't an SUV; it was (you guessed it) a van.  A red van.  Oh, the pain, the humiliation.  How was I going to explain this to my family?  To my sister? 

I hoped.  I prayed.  I asked the man above for help.  Please, oh, please, let him purchase something new.  Please, oh, please.  And then the phone call came.

"Hey, I'm going to be late coming over to your house.  I'm getting rid of the van and getting something new." 

Thank you, thank you, thank you!  I was so excited.  Maybe I could do this after all.  Maybe my sister would never find out Andy ever owned a van. Just maybe everything would be okay.  You see, I knew not only would I, but also Andy would be picked on.  Mercilessly.  Without reprise.  But everything was going to be just fine now.  No one would ever have to know.  

Then, I glimpsed him driving up the road.  Yep, you guessed it again, in a minivan. 

It must have truly been love.  But, hey, at least he owned a car (been there done that), right?