We’re arguing about who will drive the Camry. I want to, not because I really want to, I don’t like that car. It’s gutless and boring — it looks like a member of some nameless corporate fleet. But I want to drive it because I don’t want to worry about other people being inside the car if the accelerator sticks. At least I drive alone most of the time.

Not that I would know what to do if an accelerator stuck. I wouldn’t even realize the point at which, yes, I should go ahead and panic, because even before that point, my brain would be so preoccupied with worrying about the possibility of the accelerator sticking that it would take a while for it to shift gears into a full blown panic. Is it sticking? No, it’s okay. No, no, that feels like it’s sticking, am I slowing down? Ah, okay, the brake’s working, but better be safe and stay under 50 miles an hour just in case. Oh shit! It’s sticking! No, that’s just my foot. Just like that all the way to work.

The whole reason we bought a Camry — the whole reason anybody buys a Camry — is for safety and reliability. I wish I could trade it in right now, today. Drive it to a Ford dealer and exchange it for an F-150. The kind that tows boulders in the commercial during the football playoffs. That one there. The one that promises invincibility. I’ll take some of that, thank you very much.

Toyota, you’re going to have to do a lot to win back the hearts and minds of American moms. We hate being more scared and worried than we already are, especially when it comes to the safety of our families. You just mashed the hottest hot button we have. In fact, I would say that button is permanently stuck.