Prams, Scams & Honda Accords

We’ve come a long way

We’d been in the shop less than ten minutes before it was clear to me we were wasting our time.

Actually, that’s not true. I knew before I even got my seatbelt on in the driveway. But it had to be done since, I was gutted to learn, there are still items that new, 40 something parents need for their newborn that their friends don’t have.

A stroller, for example. Or, as they’re called in these parts, a pram. And not just any pram. One that was ‘capsule friendly’. I’d soon learn from my wife this had nothing to do with moon landings or easy access to pain medication; it only related to the ease of getting your youngin’ in and out of the car with the least amount of effort.

One thousand, two hundred dollars the price tag read and this, I was mortified to read, was for a middle of the road variety. In car terms, it was the Hyndai Getz in a garage full of European sports cars. Sports cars with price tags pinging the neighborhood of $1600-$2000.

In terms of facilitating ease and comfort, it seemed to me those sort of price tags surely should include the services of an Au Pair.

As for the car metaphor, it was an easy route to take. Because, you see, my first car, a seven year old 1982 Honda Accord, cost me only slightly more than the $1200 price tag I was staring at incredulously.

And that’s when it hit me: Attempting to purchase a pram for your first child is not the ideal time to suddenly find yourself engaged in an I-am-old-enough-to-remember-when scenario.

But that’s the thing: I wasn’t REALLY that old. Really, I wasn’t. This shit was just…outrageously expensive.

It just didn’t seem possible. That car had bounced me up and down the East Coast too many times to count before carrying me and a best mate cross-country on a 4,500 plus mile odyssey that would serve as a launching pad for twenty years of travel to come.

This pram, on the other hand, was destined to carry a crying, shitting machine on errands around town. It just didn’t seem fair.

But we’d driven there already (in a modern, previously owned vehicle whose price tag was only slightly more than the prams on display all around me), so do the rounds we did. When the sales attendant approached us with a radiant smile that suggested she was, no doubt, working on commission, and asked if we had any questions, I was more than ready with one.

“Do any of the higher end prams come in electric hybrid models?”

Her smile immediately lost a bit of its luster before she giggled a nervous laugh and moved onwards.

Apparently, she knew when she was wasting her time, too.


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