Commentary: My Other Car Is A Garbage Scow

First, a confession. The interiors of my two Japanese cars are crusted over with the rich effluvia of childhood. Just as rock strata reveal the passage of time, so do layers of baby formula, bananas, apple juice, Cheerios, and Chicken McNuggets catalog the progression of my two daughters from infancy into girlhood. I know I'm not alone in this.

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