Mini & Me

I’ve said it once before, and I’ll say it again: I am blessed with a wonderful family. We pull together in the worst of times, and try our hardest, despite our busy lives, to enjoy the best of times together. Moms and Dad have always been there for me and Oli, and as their daughters, we do our best to be there for them.

We are a strong unit.

Dad bought Oli her first car. She was a bright-eyed, 21-year old student living and going to school an hour plus away from home, and the time was right for her first set of wheels. The look on her face when she opened the garage to see the shiny, black sports Beretta was priceless, and I’m sure the neighbours on the far end of the street heard her shrieks.

If there’s anything my parents win the blue ribbon for, it’s fairness. Every Christmas Oli and I get the same value in gifts, and every birthday it can be counted on that I’ll have what she had, five years before. Milestone events always spoiled the surprise in a way, but were even right down the line: Oli got that beautiful ring for her sweet 16, and so did I, only with a different stone. She got the matching pendant and earrings for her high school graduation, and sure enough, my set was completed while I was donned cap and gown. Oli got a gold bangle along with her university degree, therefore, so did I.

That said, I didn’t take it as anything new when Dad mentioned, quite awhile ago, “I bought your sister her first car. So, I’m going to buy you your first car, too.”

Again, this wasn’t a shock. I always knew it would be like this. What the big deal here is that I have parents who consistently surprise and amaze me, by always going the extra mile for their daughters.

I am very lucky. And, if parenthood is indeed in my cards, I will keep to this valuable lesson.

It is time for me to have a car. If I want to start living my life the way I was meant to, i.e. true independence, freedom to roam and not freezing my ass off in city bus shelters, the moment is ripe.

Oli: Okay kid, we’re going to get you some wheels. Any idea what you want?

Me: a Mini.

Oli: Okay, we can go to the Mini dealership. It’s halfway between home and your work, isn’t it? Where else do you want to go?

Me: Just Mini.

Oli: You can’t test drive the one car. There are so many out there.

Me: Nope. Only Mini.

Oli: Mazda? We can go to Mazda too, the dealership is downtown.

Me: Mini.

Oli: Volkswagen? How about a nice Bug?

Me: Mini.

Oli: Be reasonable!

Me: I am! It’s not a Porsche or Ferrari! It’s a flippin’ Mini!

Oli: But you can’t test drive just one car!

Me: Oh yes I can!

And so on.

The first Paul Frank garment I ever owned, before he went all Julius the Monkey, was a plain white, long sleeved t-shirt with an old school red Austin Mini in the middle. Coincidentally, that was also the first piece of “thin” fashion I’d put on in years; it was a baby tee.

My love affair with the Mini began when I was eight years old. A distant relative from the pits of Bosnia had an original one, green, and packed five of us in for a ride. Being the smallest, I was in the middle and the most squashed, but plenty wide eyed at the little car full of beans that whir whir whirrred us around the turnpikes.

Back at home the Mini eluded me for the most part, with the exception of a rare appearance in a punk video or two. Later still I watched Hugh Grant & company zip through London in Four Weddings and a Funeral,and not too long after that I was wearing my Mini tee to rags.

Y2K passed through with nary a forethought and we were well into the new millenium when Bavarian Motor Works, a.k.a. The Most Brilliant Company in the World, brought back to us that famous car so small in size, but grandiose in personality.

Fate, Kismet, Bashert. Call it what you will, but the Mini and I were meant to be together, I tell you.

Fast forward: Oli and me in a blue Mini Classic, Soho package installed, ready to test the sucker out. Am I in the driver's seat? No. When you test drive a Mini the dealer doesn't actually come with you, instead, they photocopy your driver's license, hang onto a major credit card, and set the timer for 30 minutes.

Me: I still don't understand why I can't drive. This is going to be my car, you know.

Oli: Because it's my credit card they have. Besides, I always test drive the family cars.

Me: Why don't we shake things around a bit and let me test drive my own car?

Oli: Quit whining. Where do you want to go?

Me: I'll answer that when I get to drive.

Oli: Fine. Sulk. See if I care.

Me: Well if you're going to test drive it, push some limits. Swerve, please!

Car swerves maniacally

Me: How's she handle?

Oli: Beautifully.

Me: Fabulous. Hit the brakes, already.

Car jerks forward so violently we are flung forward in our seats. Our purses in back fall onto the floor

Me: Verdict?

Oli: Impressive.

Me: I knew she would be. Road ahead's empty, speed up.

The smell of burnt rubber pervades

Me: Well?

Oli: I really like this car.

Me: Excellent! Now get the fuck out and let me drive.

Oli: Sis!

Me: Sis nothing, I want to drive the car! Get out!

She got out, and she let me drive. A big circle only, but I drove it nonetheless.

So, did I fall absolutely in love with this car? Did I cry when we were parted, and were my suspicions confirmed that, all along, the ostentatious Mini was the perfect car for me?

Bloody hell, YES!