Whether or not it's a sign of some kind, I don't know, but I did find myself, over the weekend, test driving a minivan (yes, the very kind of car I have insulted like a philandering ex), and also, hanging out with a guy we'll call James. Not just any guy, of course. James was the salesman. He wasn't hanging out with me because he liked me, he just wanted to sell me a car.
So James and I are cruising around the block in this totally awesome vehicle with leather interior (DVD included!!!--would be even cooler if my children watched TV, which they don't), when I say to him, "Minivans are so not sexy." He laughs. "Not that I need to be sexy." He laughs. "No one looks sexy in a minivan. Not even a sexy person."
Needless to say, this was something of a redundant, asinine sort of one-way conversation, the type you make when you don't have anything to say. ("Wow. Cool turn signal." Where can you go from there?) And certainly it didn't dawn on me, not once, that it could be awkward for this man to hear me ramble on about sexiness. And why would it? I don't identify people any longer as male and female. Either you pick up toys or you don't. Those are the two types of people in the world.
Only later, when I saw him walking down the hall, a great, tall, strong, figure, did it occur to me that he was a man. Thankfully, I am certain that he didn't perceive me as a woman.
Which is all to say, that despite my protestations, I got out of that navy blue used family van feeling like a million bucks. That thing has bucket seats! I felt like the Queen of England. I can fit 25 children in there AND luggage. Cup holders next to the third row of seats? God, what genius thinks of this stuff?
Never mind sexy. Family-friendly is the new black.