How to precipitate a midlife crisis

DrBob sold his motorcycle. He says it’s no longer practical – he drove it back from England and arrived frozen and shuddering and determined never to get on a motorcycle again. I tried to convince him that it’s a fine thing to have when put to its proper use, but he decided to sell it anyway.

And with the sale money (plus significantly more) he has bought… a Dadmobile. Seriously. It’s an Opel Omega, the station-wagon (estate car, for you Poms) version, but it’s totally dadded out. All black, leather seats, air conditioning and cruise control, and a 6-CD changer. Plus it’s a low-rider. Basically, about as macho as you can get, and still have a station wagon. It’s fun to drive, he says. Mainly, I notice that it’s big enough to eat the Twingo for breakfast. And that it has no cup-holders.

But it will be Just The Thing for next week, when he has to drive to London, pack up all his stuff and bring it back. And when he gives up on the Night Train and decides to drive up to Utrecht every week, I’ll still have the Twingo for grocery shopping and taxi service. As for family vacations, the kids really like it. (That’s good, because the way our finances are going this spring, for vacation we probably won’t go anywhere, just sleep in the car and call it a camping trip.) And when we finally move up to Utrecht, it will be much better than the Twingo for transporting two kids, two cats, and forty houseplants.

So.

Kitten update: growing. Squeaky. Still look like tiny, furry monkeys. And I have three people saying they might like to have two, two, and one, respectively, so if those really work out, then all five kittens have homes already. If not, well, we still have a couple months to place them.

Song du jour of the day: Drive My Car, by the Beatles.

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