I'm Tired Of Being A Wagon

Last night, while scanning through a book of mine [42 Rules For Working Moms, if you are curious], I came across a chapter that touched on taking care of yourself. It said to imagine yourself as a fast sports car. If you tune a sports car right, put good gas in it, and take care of it, the performance will increase. I was totally following the point they were trying to make, but for some reason no matter how I tried, I couldn't imagine myself as a sleek sports car.

I think [unfortunately] that I'm a wagon. When the fuck did I become a wagon?!?!?!?! Pretty sure I'm not frumpy enough to be considered a minivan. No way. I'm definitely not a huge SUV either, but I have to be frank when I say I'm definitely not a compact car at this point. I think I'm a wagon.

How depressing. Wagons are functional and reliable and safe, but nobody gets excited to drive the wagon. Nobody stands back and appreciates the wagon as it drives by. Not even if it's a pretty, new wagon. Some things in life just aren't esthetically pleasing, you know??? Nor are some cars fast and lithe. Some cars will always be mediocre, no matter how well they do their job.

She might haul the kids around, but that's about it.

Well FUCK THAT. I'm tired of being the damn Subaru. I want to be a sports car. I want people to stare when I go by. I promise I'm not delusional. I may never get to Ferrari status, but would it be too much to ask to be a Camaro? Maybe even a Corvette???

Now THIS is a sexy car.

It may not be next week, or even next month, but one day I'm going to wake up and realize I'm no longer the grocery getter. One day I'm going to realize I've lost the back seat and allllll that junk in the trunk. I can't freaking wait.