I would not at all be surprised to discover that the major stockholder of small foreign car companies was the Planned Parenthood Association and the zero population growth exponents.

I drove a small car long enough to know that something had to go. Either it was the small foreign car or my four domestic children. Patriot that I am, I chose to dispense with the foreign car.

Only a mother, cleverly disguises as a chauffeur, can know the horror of four children and six bags of groceries stuffed into a car that was meant for negotiating Tokyo at rush hour.

I tried everything to overcome the situation but mothers are forced into enough heart rendering decisions without having to choose which of her own flesh and blood rides on the luggage rack. I thought the chosen one would never speak to me again, not to mention his father. The local police weren’t too crazy about it either, even when I explained that the child’s chance of survival out in the open air far surpassed that of the frozen ice cream.

Okay, okay, I admit it was bad judgment, but it certainly was better than the trunk and it forced my husband to reconsider my request for a bigger car.

His initial arguments carried little weight against mine, the voice of experience.

“The price of gas, and mileage…”, he argued. I reminded him that taking the children to the grocery store, school and doctor’s appointments in shifts was not saving gas.

“But small foreign cars are “in”. Everyone wants a foreign car.” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “everyone under four feet two, everyone who drives alone and everyone who has to tackle rush hour Tokyo.”

Persistence paid off and I am now the proud owner of a normal size car. The only thing now lacking is a buyer for my old car. If you hear of a four foot two bachelor moving to Tokyo, send him my way.