Ok, this is my first thread, so it's probably gonna suck. Go ahead and mock me, if you want. I'm psychopathologically narcissistic, so I won't feel a thing. My first car was a Jag, a 1957 Mark I, 2.4 liter. I paid $150 for it, which should give you some idea of its quality. I drove it for a year and a half. Then I loaned it to my sister, who forgot to pump the goddam brakes (like I told her to) and drove it into the neighbor's yew hedge. My father said, "That goddam piece of junk is unsafe," and off it went to the crusher. I've never forgiven her: everybody with a brain in their head knows if the brakes don't kick in, you PUMP the sons of bitches until you get the results you're looking for. It had a burled wood dash and Smith's gauges the size of dinner plates. It was beautiful and now it's gone. Think of all the cars I've had to buy since, just because she was too stupid to pump the goddam brakes. Sheesh. OK, so what was your first car, and did your sister have anything to do with its demise? There could be a pattern here.