An SUV plowed into the trunk with a crunch that seemed, at the same time, to shake my ivory tower to its foundations

Once upon a time in Brooklyn there was a Prince Charming who, for some reason I have still not ascertained, deigned to date a lowly out-of-towner (me). Things began promisingly enough as he escorted me out the door of my family friend’s house in Lakewood, where we’d agreed to meet. In case you were wondering, no, we did not instantly click, although I could tell pretty much immediately that he felt just as awkward as I did. We marched down the driveway, feeling the “hopeful eyes a-staring from the window,” just like in the Journeys song (except I’d gotten off the turnpike before the New York exits), remarking airily to each other about how nice the weather was (it was going to pour any second).

The opening of the car door was successfully, if stiltedly, effected. (By the way, a note to boys: Girls can tell if you’re the kind of guy who only does this on a date. How many times have I watched guys execute this maneuver like marionettes, brows furrowed in covert concentration? I can almost hear the script going in their heads.

(Okay, Shmueli. Like we practiced. Smile nicely. Now make a daled amos and edge carefully around her in as natural a way as possible while smoothly unlocking the door with Yanky’s keys. Oy, mamesh a kashe how this car works. Should’ve taken Ima’s van. But it takeh wasn’t shayach bichlal with all the Cheerios on the floor. Oy. Okay, now pull the handle, but don’t open too suddenly — efsher you’ll hit her in the shins. That would be very bad for shidduchim. Okay, now crouch down and look through the window so you can make sure her skirt hem is out of the way before you shut the door. But don’t grin creepily at her through the glass. That would also be very bad for shidduchim. Okay! Five stars, dude, five stars. Shkoyach. Now for the next three hours.)

But I digress. Five points to Prince Charming for his successful execution of the car door maneuver. Then we drove to a place that doesn’t really matter anymore; what matters more is what happened on the way there.