At first the execution seemed to be immaculate. The rear-end of the car swung around precisely one hundred and eighty degrees, my right foot now pinned the accelerator to the floor and I'm going to rocket across the one hundred yards of pavement that separate the girl and I in an impressive--dare I say spectacular--fashion!
Then all hell broke loose. The Combination of lateral G-forces and sudden open-throttle induced torque was too much for the aging motor mounts to bear. The motor emancipated itself from those shackles and proceded to dance the Funky Chicken, ultimately shoving the belt-driven engine cooling fan into the radiator.
At this point the car went into its special effects mode, first the audio effects, then the video effects. When the fan blades began to hack away at the radiator I was sure that my car was being riddled with deafening staccato bursts of machine gun fire. Then came the video effects when my car did a dynamite impersonation of Old Faithful as a dense geyser of steam erupted from the destroyed radiator.
Need I say that at this point I was praying that the woman whom I thought I saw was not the woman whom I thought she was!