I have a lot of friends (and enemies) who own ye olde SUV. I don't begrudge them their shining trophy, and will even have to admit that they probably need that 100 square feet of space for their 9 pound newborn. Saudi princes definitely need support, parking lots should consist of a challenge for the rest of us when a clever SUV-owner jams their car into a "compact" spot, and I certainly love the fact that a country that was built on the efforts of pioneers trundling around in wagons really hasn't changed all that much. Although the new pioneers could do with a little more awareness of vehicles next to them on the interstate.
I guess when it comes down to it, I only have two minor complaints about SUVs.
1. They are completely fucking with evolution.
Let's face it. About 90% of the human population are morons. And a good chunk of that percentage possess a driver's license. Now, in a world where we all drive Chevy Impalas such a fact would not be fatal to the betterment of the human race. Person talking on cell phone/swatting soccer-player kid/eating cheeseburger all at the same time would actually die in the collision that they cause when they cross four lanes of interstate traffic. Of course, some innocent victims would die as well, but nothing's perfect.
But no. SUVs are built like fucking tanks with reinforced airbags and possibly a parachute thrown into the deluxe models. So the beings whose legs only appeared so they could crawl out of the ocean and take a really long time trying to parallel park on a busy street in a parking spot at least six feet too small for them actually survive to live and annoy us another day. And kill the well-meaning folk who drive Chevy Impalas.
I suggest that there be a 'decent human being" test required before the purchase of an SUV. Just to make sure the right genetic material is sticking around.
2. SUVs sport awful bumper stickers. Okay, this is unfair. Other cars sport awful bumper stickers. But these bumper stickers usually have some sort of useful message, like which candidate the person supports, or whether they like the troops, or recycle, or world peace, or think the Army Corps of Engineers did (not) do enough to keep that whole Katrina levee mess from happening.
Today, heading back from a routine doctor's appointment where I was told that either my thyroid gland is enlarged or my neck is rather thin (gee, thanks), I got stuck behind a particularly ponderous Lexus which was cruising along like a whale shark among krill. I was running really really late to work with the remnants of a hangover so my tolerance was a little less than normal.
And then I saw it. Hands down the most horrifying bumper sticker I have ever seen in my 30 years.
It said, "I (heart) my husband."
Really? You really love your husband? You are a truly unique and gifted woman. I'm sure there are no other women in the world who heart their husbands. In fact, said hearting must truly not begin until said bumper sticker is meticulously placed on your Lexus.
Ok, something is up. We do not advertise the fact that we love our husbands unless there is something wrong. Bumper stickers like that are no more than tools for a daily affirmation. And we all know how useless those are. It's like "You know, I have hearted my husband in the past, but am not sure that I heart him any longer. But maybe if I put this bumper sticker on, I'll remember to heart him every time I have to open the back to put my groceries in."
This bumper sticker is a subtle warning to all who do NOT heart their husbands. Or might TRY to heart the driver's husband. In which case I recommend the following bumper sticker for other cars.*
I hearted your husband at the company Christmas party. On top of your family portrait.
You are completely allowed to heart your husband -- in fact I encourage it because divorce is a long, cumbersome, and expensive process. But please, please, please go accomplish something else as well.
Like not driving an SUV with that stupid bumper sticker on it.
*preferably Chevy Impalas.
Et Tu, Amor? (Sensory Deprivation)
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