The Age of Electric...

When we first moved to Kelowna from Ontario, Erin dreamed of becoming a carless family. He fantasized about the money we would save, about the freedom we would enjoy while riding public transit everywhere with our cranky two year old. He applauded himself for concieving of such a responsible, economical, evironmentally sound plan. Yes, in Kelowna we would slip thru the surly bonds of consumerism and truly embrace the crunchy granola utopia of Erin's imagination. Saying that I was skeptical of this plan would be a huge understatement. I think, if I recall, I flopped on the floor of our newly unpacked apartment and emitted loud unintelligible sounds of protest. He was sufficiently disturbed and we traded in our leased car for an '82 Mercedes diesel, nicknamed the bus. It sounded like a tractor and blew copious amounts of black toxic fumes into the atmosphere every time it started up. When Ethan started pre-school it became obvious that we had outlived our 'one car' days. I needed a car to drop him off and pick him up and Erin's job didn't allow the flexibility for him to do it for me. We found a '92 Pathfinder that was in reasonable shape and coughed up some more money we didn't have. Erin was disappointed to see his dream slip a little further away, but it was a practical choice and he learned to live with the fact that for now, we were a two car family. But he never forgot his dream. Oh no, he did not. Three weeks ago the muffler pipes fell off the Mercedes and we had to face the facts: the old girl is on her last leg. The speedometer and the reverse lights no longer worked. One out of four power windows operated occasionally. For two weeks out of every year (usually in January when we get a real cold snap) the car just plain refuses to start. The time had come for us to admit that unless we are willing to sink thousands of dollars into fixing up this old car, it's pretty much curtain time for our little yellow bus. Now I'm going to preface what I'm about to tell you with the information that we are, by standards, a bit quirky around here. Erin has his granola cruncher fantasy world, I like to reconstruct 40 year old dresses and make purses out of old bedsheets, Finny likes to pretend he's a dog (and by pretend I mean that he'd sleep outside in a kennel if we'd let him right now) and Ethan, well, let's me just divulge that he wore a life jacket last summer for two weeks everywhere we went, he even slept with the dang thing on - don't ask me why, I have no idea - and alternately wore one of those Groucho Marx glasses/nose/moustache dealios, carried a note pad and pencil everywhere and called himself 'Louis'. AND WE LIKE IT THIS WAY. We are perfectly happy with our semi-non-conformist ways. It makes our friends laugh and Erin's parents grimace. Win-win, no? That being said, brace yourselves for this: We did not buy a new car. We did not buy a bus pass for Erin, or arrange for carpooling for him and Ethan. What we got was this. Seriously, just one step up from this. Picture him with me now: impeccable in his tweed, oxford stripped tie flapping in the breeze created as he cruises at a top speed of 25 kph - a striking figure as he pulls into the campus parking lot, with a penis-head shaped bike helmut on his giant noggin. You cannot imagine how unspeakably happy he is with his new set of wheels. If there was ever any doubt in anyone else's mind about whether or not I married the right man, this seals the deal. I can't imagine going thru life with anyone else, babe. Now if you can just get that thing fitted with a hot pink side-car for me, we can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.