So like I said before, Sean is 16 now. At the end of the month he can take his driving test. And because none of his multitudes of parents want the kid driving our cars, we bought him his own.
Driver's license + 16-year-old = a whole new world of fear for us parents
There are a number of things that concern me about Sean being able to drive a car and most of them have very little to do with the actual operation of the vehicle. He's a pretty good driver in general — more specifically, he's a much better driver than I am ... not that that is saying much. But because I'm an adult (of some sorts) I have the experience to know that if I wreck my car, I ain't got no car. Teenagers don't seem to have this knowledge with all the money and car trees they think are growing everywhere.
Really, it's what being able to move himself around on his own implies that freaks me out. And even worse, is the "with whom" he will be moving himself around ... uh, with ... ouch, that sentence got all crazy and not at all right. Oh well, it's Friday and I'm tired so it's going to stay.
While searching for a decent, yet affordable car for Sean. I kept telling Bill that whatever car he got should have some giant and insurmountable console between the front two seats and that no where should there be room enough for any sort of lying down (if you get my drift). I really thought a one seat car with just enough room for a 6-year-old safely in the back would be perfect, but, remarkably, those are difficult to find.
Instead we bought him a 1995 Pontiac Grand Prix, 4-door. We were all happy that we were able to find a car that didn't have too many miles on it, that was around two grand and was in decent shape. Then I started reading consumer reviews of this car and became distraught.
Several owners of this car commented on it's spacious interior.
How could we have gone so wrong? We were so focused on it's mechanical fitness that we neglected to realize that not only does it have a spacious backseat (don't say "spacious backseat") but the arm rest that separates the front seats folds up and someone can sit there in the middle of the front seat ... right next to the driver.
Gah. We have facilitated teenaged touching. Gah!
The horror. The horror.
2 comments:
You kill me! It's a car - not a bottle of Courvoisier, a joint and a Barry White cd. [;o) ...lol and all that...
Oh I beg to differ. The inside of a car acts more like an aphrodisiac than oysters, salted with ground rhino horn and Spanish fly. It's a private space where they are forced to sit close to one another and are often unsupervised — and in the land of hormonal teens, what bigger turn on is there?
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