These days I fancy bicycles a lot more than cars, but I had good times over the years in the following:
1972 Pontiac Lemans, quite used when I bought it. My first. Automatic, I think. Blue with unpainted bondo in one of the rear quarter panels. Lovely bench seats – remember those? Not necessarily the most comfortable, but if your sweetie was riding shotgun [note: I had no sweetie then] it made for better scooching over than bucket seats…
Late 70s or early 80s Mazda, don’t remember the model. Nothing special. Automatic.
Volkswagon Dasher, also of uncertain vintage and transmission. My hair was a little longer then, too.
On the road again: Toyota Tercel, stick shift. I loved this car. Treated it terribly; apparently had no idea that Toyotas needed oil. Burned out an engine, replaced it. Totalled when somebody rammed into me zooming out of a gas station. My introduction to the jaws of life.
My wife had a red car for a while. Sorry, don’t remember what it was. Automatic. It suffered from various seemingly undiagnosable ailments, and applying the brakes could require advanced notice.
Nissan Sentra, she has just told me.
1992 Toyota Corolla, automatic. Bought with 5k miles, the newest car we’ve ever owned. Carried us across the US. Eventually shipped it to the UK, the mafia-types who booked it in at Port Elizabeth NJ warning us not to leave the dustbuster in the back seat as it might get stolen. Turns out goodfellas give good advice.
Very fond of this one, which my mechanic always called a “left hooker”. Died of neglect (a broken heart, it’s said) when we both went without a British licence for a stretch.
2005 Toyota Corolla, automatic; a “right hooker”, if you will. It gets us where we need to go, and the local fauna like it.