Susan used to drive a minivan.
She was totally taken by surprise the first time she ever drove a minivan because she immediately fell in LOVE with the minivan.
Immediately.
In LOVE.
She doesn't even remember what she thought of minivans prior to falling in LOVE with one because the LOVE was so transformative that it completely obliterated all previous abstract thoughts and feelings about minivans.
There was only LOVE.

She filled her minivan with small children and their stuff. Then with girlfriends, their small children and their stuff. Then everyone drove somewhere together laughing and talking and being very comfortable.

Susan no longer requires the seating and space of a minivan and drives something reliably utilitarian that looks like every other car in the parking lot. She has a favorite bumper sticker advertising a local bookstore which she has been happy to slap on a number of her cars. She also has a least favorite sticker that makes her wonder about the person who chose it.

Always on a minivan.
Rear window, driver's side.
You know which one it is.
The cartoon lineup of the van owner's family and pets.

It starts out with the emascalating figure of a husband in shorts and mouse ears, then the bland mother in shorts & mouse ears and so forth.
Susan wonders what woman sees her husband as a sexless one dimensional line drawing and if she sees herself that way too.