Hot Dog anyone?

My mom has a story about her first brand new car. It was a Cougar. Sexy and shiny and all hers. She parked it under the only tree in the hospital parking lot so it would be shaded. Sometime during her shift, the tree fell on it. Hot dog bun car.

I parked my baby car under the lone tree by the sidewalk outside my house. It was still pretty warm, and I don't like the dash to get too hot. Sometime during my Southern food cooking spree a cold front moved in complete with straight line winds, and that idiotic tree fell on my car. Hot dog bun car.

Like mother, like daughter I suppose. Why couldn't I have inherited her height instead?