Amen.
My dad was a *Buick* man. Hard working middle-class. Never owned anything else until the last years of his life.
He walked into the Cadillac dealer, paid cash for a Coupe de Ville. Mom was mortified. She said she needed a mink coat just to ride in it. She could never, in her mind, justify it.
We told her, dad deserved it to himself after all those years of sacrificing and providing for us.
Dang car was rife with problems that they could never seem to get corrected. I felt bad for him, he was unlucky to get a lemon. Life!
My mom told me a story about her dad. He bought a Buick once and the salesman promised him he would get 100,000 miles out of it (at the time, that was a lot). Well, he didn’t want to make a liar of the salesman, so he held onto it well past it’s prime. It got so shabby that my grandmother refused to ride in it.
That was the end of the Buick.
