I’m not offended that my daughter would rather ride in my husband’s Audi TT than my car. Even if my set of wheels suits me just fine–and represents its own class of fine German engineering–(have you figured it out yet?) all they see is a station wagon instead of sports car. My 7-year-old loves the thrill of peeling down the street, racing ahead of traffic (notice I didn’t say “speeding”). It doesn’t hurt me one bit when she begs to go in my husband’s car when they head out for weekend errands, even if that means being cooped up in his tiny backseat (did I mention it’s tiny?). Taking it all in stride, I know she has simply inherited her father’s eye for sleek lines [&hellip