People-carrier-aphobia

There are some weird phobias around. Many people have spider phobias, some a fear of heights, there are actual humans on this earth that are afraid of cotton wool. So I don’t feel so bad standing up and admitting that I, Leona O’Neill, am a card carrying people-carrier-aphobe.
With the birth of our new baby in July we will become a family of six. There are five seats in our current car. That’s one less seat than we have people, it simply doesn’t add up; no matter what way we do the sums.
Before the youngest child was born we had a few weeks of panic, not about the imminent birth, but about the fact that we’d have to get rid of our beloved Toyota Avensis. I wrote on these very pages about the husband’s elaborate plans to build an exterior extension onto the vehicle so as to keep it.
The mere thought of handing over his keys to a car salesman in return for a people carrier caused him actual physical pain. He scoured the country for an answer, and it presented itself in the form of skinnier booster seats, which would apparently fit alongside a baby seat and mean we could keep the car, and our relative coolness for another while.
That man spent three hours in torrential rain, fitting and refitting those seats, trying various configurations, while I paced the living room floor biting my nails.
Honestly when he eventually mastered it, when he made them all fit perfectly side by side, it was one of the proudest moments of his life. It was right up there with winning the boxing at the Reccy Club, North Queen Street, circa 1979. He was buzzing for weeks afterwards.
But now his bubble has burst. Now, there’s no alternative. When I look to the road ahead I see the O’Neill army in a big mini-bus-type contraption and it just fills me with dread.
I’ve nothing against people carrier drivers, nor do I think them nerdy or mumsy. This is a proper phobia.
I sit behind the wheel of one of those things and I instantly feel 10 years older. They are like a pair of boring, comfortable shoes. They’re a nice fit but rubbish to look at. I’m a perilously high heel kind of gal.
A lot of them are nice enough. Many of them come with great accessories – DVD players in the back seats, surround sound, panoramic windscreens, trousers with elasticated waists, a Susan Boyle CD and a life-long subscription to the Readers Digest, but that is just not me.
When we visited the showroom yesterday the salesman asked me if I was looking for a ‘Mummy Wagon’. I came over all dizzy and had to sit down while he fetched me a glass of water.
The husband, left unattended, scoured the small car section in a hair-brained scheme that would involve us keeping our current car, splitting the family into two vehicles and bombing down the road in a kind of O’Neill convoy.
We left without buying anything, again.
Time is fast running out. We either have to trade in for a people carrier or trade in one of the kids. Now there’s an idea…