The parents of my first post-HS girlfriend were relatively well-off (at least compared to my family) and for some reason not only trusted me with their lovely daughter, but on occasion their Lincoln Continental Mark V.
Granted the car was a few years old by then, but it was still probably worth more than I brought home in a year as a bar back.
The car was tremendous - I think the hood alone was nearly seven feet long; it was slow, handled like a garbage scow, sucked down fuel at the rate of 8-10 mpg and the interior was surprisingly tight for such a large car.
But, I fell in love with the Mark V the night my GF and I pulled up to the Latin Casino in Cherry Hill NJ, dressed to the nines for her 20th B-day dinner. The valet addressed me as sir and I felt like an real adult for the first time.
The rational part of my brain knows the car is a horrible vehicle, that won’t fit in my garage and would drive me to bankruptcy keeping the tank full, but every time I see one on CL or BaT, my mind does all sorts of mental calisthenics to justify buying it.