I live in the suburbs, and no, that’s not an apology. It suits me. There are good schools, nice yards and almost nonexistent crime. But it’s not all green grass and rainbows out here. Like any other community, we have our downside. For example, we have far too many rules, and I’m breaking most of them. If there is a Board of Rule Enforcement in the Suburbs (let’s call them BORES), they’d probably eject me if they knew my deep, dark secrets.
City dwellers, aka the cool kids, make fun of our cookie cutter houses, lack of night life, our leaf blowers. and our snobs. I’ll be the first to admit that all the good music and restaurants are in the city. However, if I want to hear great music or eat at a cool, trendy restaurant, I can drive into town, partake, drive back to my quiet neighborhood and go to bed with almost 100% certainty that my car will still be in my driveway when I wake up.
Those secrets I mentioned…
I raised two kids in the suburbs without ever wearing a ball cap or ponytail and without driving a minivan (gasp). There was plenty of room for the kids, plus a labrador retriever in my 1992 Saturn SL2. I never could imagine myself in a station wagon or minivan – which are basically the same thing.
Somewhere along the way, suburban moms traded in their minivans for 9 seater SUVs that they struggle to maneuver. Just last week, my husband and I went to the movies at our local clean, quiet suburban movie theatre. We saw Sully, where we watched a skilled pilot land a jet on a river without losing a single passenger. Then, as we were walking out, we had to stop and wait for a woman’s repeated attempts to back out her ginormous vehicle (nearly the size of Sully’s jet). Needless to say, there were only two passengers in her monstrous automobile. Eventually, she freed herself from the confines of her parking space and we were able to move along. This is not uncommon in my neighborhood. It’s a daily occurrence. Ironically, or perhaps not, Chevrolet’s 9 seater SUV is called the “Suburban.”
Full disclosure: After my kids were grown, I quadrupled my dog collection, and “upgraded” to an SUV. To clarify, it’s a normal sized, 5 seater Ford Escape. The dogs can all fit in the back with the seats down and they never fight about who gets to sit in the front seat. However, when this vehicle eventually dies, I’m going back to a small car. I miss my old Saturn and hope to find something like it someday. However, the BORES may kick me out if I do.
They’re NOT pants!
Another thing that may get me banished: yoga pants. I don’t wear them in public. I wrote a blog post about yoga pants not being pants (read it here). I just bought my first pair – two pair actually – this year. Can you believe that? I wear one pair to the gym. The other pair is in the closet with the tags still on them. I don’t go to yoga classes, but neither do the women you see wearing yoga pants in public.
I’m surprised they haven’t already kicked us out for not having a beautiful, plush lawn. I did, however, get a citation once for my grass being too high. Yep, when crime is low, the city has time for things like driving around to make sure that the residents mow their yards to an appropriate height. It didn’t really matter to the guy that I was a little busy with my husband deployed and looking for my two dogs that had run away.
So, I’m trusting you to keep my secrets. The BORES already know that we don’t have a lawn service. They can’t find out that I’m driving around in the suburbs in my undersized vehicle with no ball cap, no ponytail and no yoga pants.