In 2012, a male writer at GQ Magazine went through strained efforts to justify owning and driving a minivan. He even described his flaccid efforts to haggle the price down at the used car lot. “I just begged him to give me $50 off so that I felt like I had won something in the deal. But I didn’t even get that, because I’m a pussy who drives a minivan.”
Since mankind invented the wheel and mounted four of them under an eight-passenger, kid-friendly hull, men have been dealing with that problem: the virtual castration that occurs the moment you settle into the cloth seat of a 1989 Ford Aerostar and slink off to soccer practice.
That changed today, when Mark Hunt unwittingly revealed that he drives a minivan, or at least something that might as well be one. Two children strapped into two rows of seats. Minivan status confirmed. From this day forward, you can not only expect to negotiate a favorable deal on a used car lot, you can execute a drive-off pass during rush hour without feeling like you are defying the universal laws of masculinity.
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