Oh Mrs. G! Of all the suggestions a wife could make. I am so wounded, so cut to the quick. Mrs. G., how could you even think this?

Me, drive a mini-van?

There are lines I cannot cross, places where my manhood won't take me. Behind the wheel of a van is one such place.

She was serious, though. She offered reasons, including the copious carrying capacity found in the typical van.

"You haul around a lot of crap," Mrs. G. said.

I corrected her: "A lot of stuff."

When none of her reasons struck my fancy, she even suggested I drive a Honda Element — the ones that look like toasters on wheels. Failing there, Mrs. G. then suggested its junior competitor from Scion, the one you kind of think a clown should be driving in a holiday parade.

The fact that vans ride like a tank and are only slightly better looking than public transportation are always omitted from her sales pitch.

These days, vans are for mommies, I told her. There's no such thing as a Man Van.

Sure, vans were cool during the 1970s — and who among us doesn't have fond memories of the VW Microbus?

But all those shag-carpet interiors, captain's chairs and black light posters were replaced by DVD players, seatbelts and cup holders. And I need to tell you, real men hold their drinks between their legs and hope they don't spill anything.

Mrs. G. means well. It's just that she doesn't understand the whole deal with cars and trucks and vans and men.

What a man drives says a lot about his personality and his standing in the world. I drive an aging Honda Accord with only two working power windows and air conditioning that has a single, searing temperature akin to Death Valley in August.

I guess that says I'm sweaty and cheap. I'm OK with that, because it doesn't say soccer mom.

Mrs. G. insists that's precisely what I am, because I'm regularly moving soccer players, balls, coolers and tents all over the landscape. Yes, that's true, but I don't look like I'm about to hand someone a sippy cup.

I used to think a pickup truck was the answer to all my needs. It seemed an ideal solution for a guy who needs room to carry stuff from the hardware store, surfboards and bulk-pickup trash destined for the dump. The truck was vetoed when my family realized there wasn't much room for them.

And why not an SUV, you ask? Well, they're gas hogs. They're bad for the environment. Too expensive to drive.

The only contender turned out to be the venerable station wagon, the van of my parents' generation. My best friend's parents owned a Ford LTD station wagon we would cruise in. Boy, did that thing get us in trouble.

Now there's a vehicle that says "middle-aged wimp" even as it oozes the fragrant scent of nostalgia. Vetoed.

The negotiations continue.

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.