It was huge. It was ugly. It had the optional peanut-butter-stained interior with a pungent-not-new-car smell. The carpeting contained the historical record of our four kids, captured in layers of beach sand, smashed bananas, and melted ice cream, all well-preserved by protective coating of dog hair.
Of course it hadn’t always been that way. Only a few years before, Karin had decided it was time to ditch our “classic car,” a Chevy 9-passenger wagon, and get a box-on-wheels minivan. ….
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