A Van? Toad and I need a new car. Toad wants a van. I do not. A van is a rolling resignation. Look at me; I’m old and have kids.   Not me, I want a sports car: a red sports car. Toad: There is no place for the kids to ride in a sports car. Me: So we agree, it’s the right choice. I didn’t know how far apart our thinking was on car buying. Toad wants the kids to go with us everywhere. I thought we would leave them at home—like the cat. We could bring back 50lb bags of food once a week, and leave the T.V. on for them.    Toad: The Mazda MPV is a sexy van. Toad tries the soft sell. Me: A van will not make a nest in my yard. I want a sports car. Toad does not listen to me now that we’re married. She asked my opinion on everything until I proved my ineptitude by saying “I do.” If you’re a husband, the next logical step is you are slow- witted. Wives know this. Me: Can I test drive the Mitsubishi 22000 Pro-Am Super Sport in speed enhanced Tri-color red. Toad: No. I will let you get a sexy red van though—if you shut- up. Me: Painting a van red is like putting Stiletto heels on an unattractive elephant. My protests were to no avail. Toad’s credit is better than mine, so she can buy a car without my signature. On the other hand, my 11-year-old daughter had to sign for me to get a lunchroom credit-slip when I visited her school. Me: Miss Lunchroom Lady, I’d like a hotdog, but I left my wallet at home. Lunchroom Lady: Hannah, is this deadbeat your father? Hannah: Mom’s married to him, but there’ve been no blood tests. Lunchroom Lady: Will you sign for Daddy Warbucks to get a hotdog? That was embarrassing. I wanted an extra carton of milk, but Hannah wouldn’t sign, so I had to go to the water fountain. Back to the van: The box that prepares you for a coffin. Ride in a van for a while and a coffin seems…sexy. To save money, your wife can just flat the tires on the van, and bury you in it with a picture of the sports car you’re never gonna’ get taped to the inside of the windshield.     Me: Toad, that is the ugliest car I’ve ever seen. It looks like a catfish parked in the yard. It’s not red like you promised either. Is that a color, or is it melting. Toad: They didn’t have Fireball Red; all they had was Go-slow Green. It looks like an unstable Cabbage on wheels. Toad thought it would be funny to put a bumper sticker on the back. “My other car is a van too, because my husband is a loser.” I knew this would happen. Toad: It seats eight. Me: There are only four of us, and people with vans don’t have friends. Toad: Your brother’s children can go places with us now. Together, our spawn and my brother’s three mistakes, make more noise than a troop of circus elephants learning to skateboard in an aluminum siding factory.     Me: Could you just run over me in the driveway? No one will see. All the neighbors have their curtains pulled closed. They’re pretending not to know we’ve been reduced to vanning. The next morning. Ugly Green Van: Pssst… Hey Edward, come over here. Me: What do you want? Ugly Green Van: Did you know I have the turbo-charged, three- cylinder, model airplane engine? I go from 0-60 in about three weeks. Ha ha ha… A cherry-wood coffin with the curved corners and powder-blue lining is looking pretty good; think I’ll pick up some brochures.