I was driving down Maple Grove Rd yesterday at lunch, windows down, music a bit too loud, hair flying, thinking I am cool... driving our new "old school" 1998 Land Rover Discovery...
Huh? How is that cool?
The mere fact that I think that is at least remotely cool says something about me. And all of a sudden the parallels between this sad vehicle and myself started to take shape in my mind:
1998 was a good year. It was one of my best years. I was studying abroad in Durham, living in a Castle, and sowing all the seeds of my youth.
Land Rover is English. As an aspiring angophile, it works, in the same way my Burberry glasses and Wedgewood cameo necklace work.
The vehicle sounds like it could take on mountains, it has a lot of say... but sure does take its time to go above 45 MPH. I sympathize. It is easy to have vision, it is a whole different thing getting there.
If ever there was a car that said shabby-chic-wish-I-was-a-world-traveler-but-actually-am-a-suburban-soccer-mom, it is probably this one. In Mara's favorite color to boot.
And then Xanthe's future teenage whine voice came to mind - "Mom, I don't want to drive a Land Rover.. it is sooooooooo last century."
It was at this point that I let my mind start to wander down another route.