So your Rolls Royce broke down at the airport and your date decides to pose in front of the vehicle provocatively. Who cares? Deal with it. It's your own fault you drove on the runway, anyway. And not for nothing, but Brenda wasn't impressed. She even considered putting her panties back on, but the car broke down before she could get a chance to. So there she is, half naked in front of your rented RR and all the airport baggage handlers are hootin' and hollerin' at her. This is nobody's fault but your own. Have you called AAA yet? Don't tell me you forgot to renew your membership. Dear god. Okay, all right, whatever. You can get through this. Brenda probably won't want to have anything to do with you afterward, but let's face it, she was dating down. Big time. You never should have posted your brother's pic on Match.com as your own. You're nowhere nearly as good looking as Jeff. It's a shock Brenda didn't close the door in your face when you arrived at her house to pick her up. Thank god for the Rolls Royce. But then you had to go ahead and drive on the runway. Would it have killed you to practice using a stick shift beforehand? No, it wouldn't have killed you. And then, in turn, you wouldn't have killed the clutch and that baggage handler in the orange vest wouldn't be hitting on Brenda right now. Oh, but you mustn't look back. Move forward! Get on with your life and put the car and neutral and roll it off the runway before Flight 624 from Tulsa lands on top of it. Then tell Brenda it's either you or Ronnie the baggage handler. Don't be afraid to sweeten the deal: tell her there's a free dinner at the Terminal C food court with her name on it should she choose to go with you. If that doesn't work, forget her. The razzing from the other baggage handlers will be too much to bear by then anyway. So just walk away. Leave Brenda, the car, the baggage handlers – leave it all behind – and make your way into the terminal, grab a snack at Cinnabun, have a good cry, and then go out there and get some livin' done!