"Gentlemen. . .start your engines". . . if you can

I've done it! For the past several weeks, I've campaigned to rifd ourselves of the giant white albatross, the GMC Jimmy. It was the last staw, in my book, when the blasted thing refused to start up at the post office. As I trudged down the street, a very grouchy toddler in tow, I looked back over my shoulder and for a brief instant thought the darned thing smiled and winked at me (no, not really).I started my JIMMY BE GONE campaign that night

"The truck is on its last legs, we need a new set of wheels, or at least a better used one." The Jimmy's exterior is in GREAT shape, but its engine is going to pot.

"I don't want to be saddled with a car payment," John countered. "It just needs a little tweaking here and there."

Yeah right; a few Saturdays later, the truck tweaked John. He and the boys had embarked on a guy's day out to town. I was surprised when, an hour later, they returned, each wearing a different level of disgust on their face.

"What happened?" I asked.

"The truck started overheating. We're going no where." John snapped.

"I saw in the paper where the Dodge dealship was having a sale. If we hurry--'

"Not interested," John barked, as he sat pouting on the living room couch. Rental cars are hard on the pocket book, so last Saturday, John conceded and we visited a dealship. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, a dealer approached us before we were even parked. A well-dressed chap, the dealer--let's call him Tom--shook everyone's hand--the guys that is--but turned away when he came to me.

"Not a way to sell a car, buddy," I mumbled as we purused the parking lot. Like cattle, we were herded to a 2005 minivan with only 2000 miles. "How about a test drive?" Tom beamed a John.

"Oh awesome, " I chirped, looking inside the spacious vehicle. "How do I fold the second row seat down so my boys and I can sit in the back?"

Tom looked deflated. "Oh, are you all going?"

No, we're going to chase you down the road like a pack of dogs, I wanted to reply. Instead, I put on my brightest smile and said, "Of course, if that's all right with you." Wordlessly he nodded.

"How do I get the seat folded down?" I repeated. Tom stared mutely at me, not offering any help. Oh to heck with it, we'll get back there the best way we can. I plopped Robert in between in second and third row of seats. I thought that he, like a cat, would land on his feet, but he proved me wrong; he was wedged inbetween the seats and resembed a fold up napkin as he gave me a what-the-heck-did-I-do-to-deserve-this look. I tugged, but I couldn't get him out without hurting him.

"Umm, excuse me. Could you please tell me how to move the seats up so I can get my child out?" I asked Tom. Again I was greeted by a blank stare. Disgusted, I turned to John, who was staring at our son, still doing his impersonation of a napkin. "Could you get him out?" John tried, but Joseph was stuck too well.

"Oh for goodness sakes, let me try," Seth said, walking around the van. After a minute, he handed me a very relieved toddler. Jonathan chalked his sucess up as "teen power". After the ride ended, and we were getting out of the van, another salesman zipped by in a car and almost took out my whole family. We saw this as a sign our car wasnot to be found there, and left.