I want to get a new car, but I’m torn. I’m tired of bombing around town in a mini van and feeling like I’m parallel parking a parade float. I’d love to have a sporty little number I could zip to work in and dash off to Pilates or coffee with the girls. How nice it would be to actually park in a space marked “compact” and not have to crawl out the hatch back once I’ve cut the motor. I’ve been longingly flipping through car catalogues fantasizing of long jaunts down the open road with my hair whipping in the wind and the sun bronzing my face. This daydream can go on forever until my Mom bursts my bubble by pointing out that my entire family will never be able to ride together in my new car. Then I come back down to earth and add something else to my “when I’m retired” list!