Roadrunner

I own a car. He's fast, blue and beepy, so I named him Roadrunner. He's a Jetta and he's very cool. But I can't keep him and he needs a good home.
I've been trying to sell him because I can no longer afford the insurance. Part of this is Boston being expensive, and part of it is the fact that I totalled my last car and the rates went up recently. The problem is, no one wants to pay for a car -- or at least, they don't want to pay for a car that's genuinely worth five digits. I've had signs in the windows, put up flyers all around town, and advertised online for 2-3 months, and no one ever followed through on an appointment to come see it. (This may also be related to my lack of success as an Oriental rug salesperson. I'm just not pushy enough.)
So my parents took my car to Connecticut with them on their way back from the wedding. They're going to try to sell it for me there. I had wanted to be all grown-up and responsible about this and handle it all myself -- dealing with prospective buyers, taking it to dealerships, doing all the paperwork. But the things I did do didn't produce any real fruit, and sometimes part of being a grown-up is realizing you could do with some help. So if Daddums and Mumsy want to solve my problems for me because the big mean Bostonians won't buy Princess's car, then that's just fine. Screw emotional and functional independence -- I want my check.