When Stanley drove up, I thought, "Oh man, that's ugly. No way." A light champange four-door. A 1988 BMW 5-series, which I think I'm going to buy. Because it seems good enough, has manual window rollers, and heater that will dry my hair in five minutes if I get out of the shower too late. Did I mention that there are separate heat controls for the passenger and driver side? All this in a car made when I was the glorious age of twelve.
It reminds me of my 1987 Buick Century and Carrie's tuna can, the 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It's got a good number of miles on it. But it's in very good condition, drives well, has a new transmission, tires, brakes, etc. I could go on. I probably shouldn't. It drove so well and was obvious from his email and the conversation that he had loved and taken care of the car. It's one of the ugliest BMWs I've seen. Which makes me laugh. And this is all about laughing. My mom will appreciate that there's a bit of car between me and the next.
If nothing else, driving it for a month would be the same as renting a car for a month. It will get me where I need to go. It's comfortable. It feels solid on the autobahn. And now people will be looking at ME instead my car. No competition.
How comical. I move to Germany. I buy the German-made car. It's just not quite what was expected. I think I like it that way.