After 12 years of resisting, I finally bought an SUV - and I can't believe I ever survived suburbia without it

About three years into my suburban existence, I graduated to a mini station wagon — a Volvo V50 — which seemed more like a family car, though it still had my small-car aesthetic.

Somehow, I thought, a wagon would help me blend in with the strip-mall, soccer mom crowd. Nope. I was still completely invisible, like a bug to be squashed on the roadway by the monster machines of everyday life.

A couple years later, an upgrade to a sizeable Volkswagen Passat sedan helped a little, but I was still the odd-mom out.

When I set out to buy a new car two years ago, I settled on a Honda CR-V as my model of choice. It had good ratings, it was reliable, and it was reasonably priced. It had plenty of legroom in the backseat, and it was big but not huge.

The gas mileage was as good as my smaller cars, but the pickup is sluggish. Don't get me wrong; it wasn't minivan sluggish. But suburban driving involves lots of stop lights and turns, so you can't go that fast anyway.

I wasn't thinking about color when I bought my CR-V, but function. I wanted leather (spills clean up easily) and heated seats, both of which mandated the upgrade to the CR-V XE.

I wanted a cheap, used car that had high mileage for its age. Why? I don't drive many miles a year, so I won't be putting many miles on the car. Yet, I figured a three-year-old car with high mileage was likely driven mostly on the highway by a professional who needed to travel daily, so the wear-and-tear on the vehicle to the mileage would be lower.

I settled on my lovely, 2013 brown-grey CR-V XE because it had 82,000 miles on it, and was cheaper than the other three-year-old SUVs. The color was whatever.

Now I can haul the kids in comfort. They are far enough behind me that they do less seat-kicking. The back can hold a bike or stroller in a pinch, though I haven't tried to see if it could fit a long car trip's worth of luggage, food, toys, and gear for the kids.

The real benefit of the car is the ways its ugly, brownish-greyish color acts as suburban camouflage. You can't tell my car from any of the other medium-sized SUVs in blah colors that populate my suburban landscape.

I can barely find my own car — it conceals me, the city girl with a small-car fetish, from the uncomprehending stares of the suburban pro-moms. I don't belong here, but my car sure does — I can hop in and blend.

Plus, I am now high enough up that I can stare down the SUV-speeders in the Whole Foods parking lot. I am on their level, and they take one look at my inexpensive ugly monster of a car and know that I am not scared of a scratch. When I have the right of way, I take it, and no one can look down on me.