That Car Has ... Heart

Yesterday marked the beginning of my second week in South Carolina. This week my car is a Chevy Malibu. When I saw it, I thought little of it. My friend had a Monte Carlo--an upgrade--last week and it was already shedding sundry parts of its interior. With that glowing referral I was nearly ready to go back into the terminal and ask for a Camry again. But I was late, so I loaded up and got in.

This car feels tight and handles nimbly. And Katie is not driving one until she is at least twenty-five. Preferably thirty-five. It wasn't until I was merging this morning that I realized a Malibu with a V6 engine has ... ahem ... heart. Wow.

Coming home tonight the elapsed time from 55 mph to 85 mph while passing a truck is just a little quicker than one expects. Of course nobody in their right mind would drive that fast. Fortunately, I've only rarely been accused of such and then it was with dripping sarcasm. Yowsa. And Chevy makes this? I remember ugly green Impalas followed by a couple of Buick Century sedans. Nothing in the Colbert driveway -- even the Chevette (Sandpiper edition, speaking of sarcasm) -- was like this. Two great big brass ... hearts. That's standard equipment on this car.