Three Little Letters

Three little letters, and I feel, somehow, a small part of a world I couldn't have ever imagined before.

Daddy Big Chief is, shall we say, on the tall side. Ok, he's freakin' huge. And besides not having the space to store his million and one pairs of US size 13 shoes and four million XXL t-shirts, he also sometimes has problems fitting into smaller cars. In order to drive them, he has to have the seat as far back as it will go, and the steering wheel as far up as it will go. And then maybe he'll fit.

Forget a car seat behind him, though. Those don't fit. Not in our previous VW's, and not in our current Ford. But that's no problem, Little Cub fits fine behind the passenger seat.

Oh, wait. In a few months' time, we'll need to fit two car seats in the back.

Oh crap.

What's that, you say? Our dear friend K-Den is leaving to go back to his home country but needs to sell his car first? It's slightly larger, yet still small enough to squeeze around the narrow streets in our neighborhood? It has a larger trunk space? And although it's nowhere near new and has a decent chunk of miles on it, it's built like a brick and looks like it's just come off the showroom floor? Oh how I love having anal retentive, obsessive-compulsive, clean-freak friends who want to sell us their cars!

Excuse me, it's a what? I'm going to own a WHAT kind of car? You're freakin' kidding me.

It's a BMW?!?!?!?!?!

Those are three little letters I never imagined could be part of my life.

Merry Christmas, indeed.