Yesterday, I went to the one "local" dealer, meaning, a 50 mile round trip, and checked out the cars there. He handles Dodge, Ford, Chevy, and Buick, lightly. On the lot was a white '04 Impala program car that had been on lease for a year, had 26,600 something miles on it, leaving under 4000 miles of company warranty on it.
The last time I drove an American made car, they were not as comfortable a ride as what the '86 BMW gives, so I was a bit skeptical. When I got back from my test drive, the dealer said, "You love the car, right?" I nodded. But I did not sign on the dotted line.
Nor did I make arrangements for credit, or fix the little BMW's tail pipe (he'd take it as is on trade in, and the noise wasn't terrible, so I will wait. I don't do much driving in the summer anyway -- twice a month into town shopping generally unless something comes up.
So, today, as I was actually getting down to work on my book, I had a phone call from the gal who bought Karess. The fellow who hauled her, who held her for over two hours in the front yard while we chatted, had told her he liked her and was interested in getting another one, so she'd suggested Forget-Me_Not (Leche, the filly with the blaze top and bottom, so we nick-namde her Leche, Spanish for MILK, after the "got milk" commercial. She looks as if she dipped her muzzle into a pail of particularly sticky milk, up to the depth of several inches.)