I appreciate your interest in me. Indeed, I am most flattered by the goo goo eyes and kissy faces you were making at me in the rearview mirror. It is not often that I attract the attention of a man of your unquestionable esteem and virility, as clearly evidenced by your choice of vehicles. A '98 Toyota Camry--with spoiler!--pretty much guarantees I'm a sure thing. And the way the sun glinted off your expired tags? Dreamy!
As special as your juvenile displays of lustful regard made me feel, I would hate to think I was just one among many potential paramours. You don't do this sort of thing all the time, by any chance, do you?
Of course not! What we shared was most assuredly momentous and rare; the basis, I'm sure, of an enduring illicit relationship. But while, in my obvious state of unbridled arousal, I may have appeared to be returning the sentiment by pursing my lips in wanton seduction, in actuality I was attempting to convey a much more pressing message:
"Look out, dumb ass! You're going to hit that car."
Alas, you did not heed my warning. And if there is one thing I cannot abide in my lovers, it is the inability to keep their car in its own lane while making lewd overtures to strange women in the cars behind them. Call me picky.
So, adieu, mi amour. Hope time buffs out the dents in your heart the way the body shop will undoubtedly buff out the dents in your car. And that other one.
Best save your goo goo eyes for the road from now on, eh?