My knees ache and I know why. I need a bigger car.

I bought a Ford Focus in 2003.  It was a great deal, and it has been a great car.  My son drives it now.  He wishes it was a Chevy Camaro.  When I turned the car over to him, I thought he’d be thrilled.  He told me the other day that it is a ‘good’ car, but he hates the body style and is a little embarrassed to drive it.  The ignorance of a parent.

The Focus was fun to drive, got decent mileage, and had fog lights.  You can’t get any cooler than fog lights.  As I grew bigger and bigger I noticed I liked the Focus less and less.  It came to the point that even the fog lights couldn’t make me happy. 

In a previous life, I would go to the convenience store every morning for a few gallons of diet cola and a donut or two.  I’d pull up in my Ford Focus and see my reflection in the window; a two-pound marshmallow in a one-pound bag.  The seat had worn flat; the driver’s side suspension was sagging.  My body filled half of the car.  The seat was still comfortable.  The leg room was great.  I was having a problem with the width room.  The space between the door and the center console had shrunk. 

When I would sit, I couldn’t comfortably cross my legs.  I couldn’t comfortably keep my knees less than three feet apart.  I looked like I was preparing to give birth to a cow.  A full-grown cow.  Oh, I know it is sexy to sit all spread out, and it is all the rage at state dinners, meeting with the Queen, etc.  But, I really didn’t like to sit with my legs splayed.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s all the mooing.

So, to fix my sprawled leg problem, I went shopping for a new car.  My only criterion was seating comfort.  That’s what I told each salesperson.

I was shopping for a new Honda.  I was sitting in a new Accord.  I liked the car, but my left knee was smashed up against door.  The center console was digging in to my right knee.  There’s forty yards of open space between my knees.  I asked the salesperson if he likes beef.

It’s no on the Honda.  Also, no on the Ford Mustang.  During my non-cow-bearing years, I’d rented a Mustang on a business trip and really liked it.  I’d test driven one a year or two after the rental and almost bought it.  At that time, my wife said no.  She went on and on about the fact that we have three kids and the back seat of the Mustang only had two seatbelts.  I really didn’t see a problem, but the law is the law.  This time around, I thought I’d try out the Mustang again.  I did.  Stripped bare and two tubes of multi-purpose grease later, I'd slid into the driver's seat and was ready for the test drive.  It was a little embarrassing driving a car naked.  I did have soft skin for a few weeks.

I searched off and on for several weeks to find a new car.  I’d call dealerships and ask them about leg room.  They’d all reply, “This here car has the best leg room of any car in its class.”  Each dealer was ready to outdo the other.  I think they were up to eight feet of leg room when I finally quit calling.

I finally settled on a Nissan Altima.  I wanted a Maxima, but it only had 7 ½ feet of leg room.  When I first sat in the Altima, I knew it was the car for me because my knees didn’t hit the console or the door.  I could comfortably give birth to twin cows while driving I-15 during rush hour.  I didn’t care if the car was built with cardboard and had a two hamster engine (one for forward, one for reverse).  This car fit me.  I could sprawl to splitting and still be comfortable.

I bought the Altima almost two years ago.

The other night I was sitting on the living room floor cross legged.  I wasn’t doing Yoga.  I was playing some mind-numbing game on my Android Pad.  The game was so completely mind-numbing that I didn’t even realize I was sitting cross legged.  When I realized what I was doing, I took deep cleansing breaths and began to meditate.

I'm amazed.  I can sit cross legged.  I can put my leg on my knee (not the same leg).  I can sit comfortably with eight inches of space between my knees (I just measured).  I don’t have to sit like I’m giving birth to someone’s yearly supply of beef.  Now I can sit like I’m birthing a smaller mammal, like a badger.