Somebody gave me a car.
Happened yesterday as I was driving my 1974 BMW home from working in Stockton. A white minivan that was pulled to the side of the highway honked as I went past, then apparently spent about 10 miles trying to catch up. (My car drives nice...)
At the stop sign in Farmington they finally got along side and the woman driving yelled that she wanted to talk to me about my car. It seemed pretty important to her, so we both pulled off.
Here husband George had a 1974 BMW 2002 since 1991 and loved it. Six weeks ago he turned into a stopped SUV and caved in the front corner. (And shortly thereafter ended up in the hospital.) It depressed him to see the hurt car, and even more to think of it being crushed or parted out.
Then they saw mine, which really does look pretty nice for still wearing its original paint. Long story short - they offered me the car. I took them a copy of The Portable Dad and a nice bottle of Chianti this afternoon and followed a tow truck home with my second tan BMW 2002.
Daisy and George, thanks. You're a class act and I will get the car back on the road...