It seemed familiar — like I’d been there before. From the outside, it looked like a great big American-made SUV. There were the large tires, the aggressive front end, the long lines down the side, the liftgate in the back.
Once inside the Acadia, though, the memories came rushing back. The captain’s chairs in the second row. The third row that collapses almost flat to the floor. The space between the captain’s chairs to allow access to the third row. Could it be?
(Music from “Psycho” kicks in…)
Yes! I was in a minivan! Even my daughter picked up on it. “This is exactly like our car, Dad,” she noted. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
And that’s what really ticks me off. I live in the suburbs, surrounded by all these suburbanites who have turned their collective back on the minivan. “They’re not cool enough,” they sniff. “They’re not manly enough.”