The junior son has been improving his driving skills lately, mostly at the expense of
1) the disks in my neck and
2) the clutch in the wifely person's Volvo.

As we shuttered to a rather kittywumpus halt in the garage the other day, the not-so-subtle aroma of burning clutch was inescapable.

He wrinkled his nose a bit and then asked,
"What's that smell?"

Volvo clutches go for at least $700 these days.
So, I replied: "The evaporation of your inheritance."