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R.I.P. Candy’s Two-Seat Convertible

Candy's Column

R.I.P. Candy’s Two-Seat Convertible

R.I.P.Babies come with a number of mind-boggling accessories, including car seat systems that even Houdini could not escape.  “Rear-facing”… “anchor attachments”… “SnugRider” (Ed. note:  apparently, not a condom) … all new terms to me, which add up to one big life-changing reality check:

I need a new car.

A longtime convertible enthusiast — I love the feel of the wind in my hair and gnats in my teeth — I was convinced Baby Girl and I would be fine with simply buying another convertible that has a backseat.

“Oh no,” all the mommies clucked.  “You MUST have four doors!”

“Nah, we’ll be fine,” I responded, fists tightly clenched around my last remaining shreds of “coolness,” which were admittedly sparse to begin with.  “My parents raised three kids and NEVER had a four-door.”

“You’ll see,” they smiled in a knowing manner that made me want to rebelliously run out and buy a Porsche Boxster I don’t need and can’t afford, much like my Uncle John did on his 50th birthday.  Just before he installed some plugs… on his head.

Fast forward to this past Friday, when I spent a soul-sucking seven hours at various car dealerships trying to stuff my big stroller into tight trunks (not as dirty as it sounds, unfortunately) and resisting the urge to slap the salesmen silly.

“How much is this one?”

“Candy, we will do whatever it takes to make a deal you’re happy with.”

“But how much does it cost?”

“Candy,” they always say, lowering their voice to indicate we have become BFF.  “To be honest, Candy, we have a special dealer incentive that just started this morning, so we’re actually going to lose money by selling you this vehicle.”


“Let me talk to my manager.”

Figuring out my Fort Knox SnugRider Car Seat is almost easier than finding out the true price of a car.  Almost.

Having decided upon an Audi A4 convertible, the price still as clear as mud, I brought Mr. Candy to the dealership on Saturday evening to check out the car before signing on the dotted line.  Mr. Candy was armed with his usual Excel spreadsheet and, unfortunately, a major buzz from my (in)famous sangria I had whipped up for our friends’ baby shower earlier that day.  ‘Cause that’s how we roll.  Our friends had warned us they were unable to fit a car seat and, you know, actual people in their car at the same time, so we also decided to bring the Fort Knox SnugRider along to ensure it would fit in the shiny new convertible I was CONVINCED would be mine by 8:00 p.m.

Fast forward to 8:01 p.m., my poor drunk husband sweating tequila bullets from unsuccessfully trying to cram that damn car seat in the back of the vehicle and me, sitting resignedly in the front of a four-door Audi sedan.

“How much does this one cost?” I asked, choking back sobs.

“Candy, we will do whatever it takes to make a deal you’re happy with.”

Okay, then, I would like a convertible that is four inches longer, please.

Turns out, my parents…?  Used the Britney Spears Car Seat System of, um, not using one.  “We just threw you on the passenger seat and held you there,” my mom declared when I asked her about it, adding in response to my shocked silence:  “That’s just how it was done back in those days!”  Which certainly explains how they drove two-seaters with children.  And why the side of my head has a dent the size of a glove compartment handle.

I have not yet given up on my dream of a mommy convertible, but it is fading fast.  At the present time, based on our experience and discussions with the various salespeople, we are leaning toward the Coupe de Sangria 2009-LJX.

Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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