Our story thus far: Charles Crafton is a confirmed bachelor with horrible luck with women. One day he is late for work, and in his haste has a car accident in front of his house.
After the impact, Charles sat in his car a moment, shocked and rather upset to find himself in an accident.
"Oh, dear," he said, and got out to survey the damage.
The back of his car was crumpled like an accordion, but what was even worse was the bright green car lodged in his own -- and its driver, sitting there with a vacant expression on her face.
"Oh, dear," he said again, and went to help her out.
"Oh, my, I'm terribly sorry."
He found himself blathering as he tried to pry open her door. She didn't seem to notice him at first; but when she did notice she let out a noise that sounded quite like a scream.
"Oh, dear," he said again. He couldn't help it, nor could he help wishing he had stayed a-bed. He could have avoided this entire nonsense if only he had gotten up on time, or not gotten up at all.
When he finally got the door open to let her out, he was met by her screams of indignation.
"You stupid, stupid man!" she screamed, calling him various unflattering names while flailing at him with her fists. He was mortified to see his neighbors slow down to take in the spectacle.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he said. She continued pounding at him, while he managed to say "Oh, dear" quite a few more times.
She finally calmed down, as if realizing how ridiculous she looked, and at once assumed a calm and dignified manner.
"My, we've got into quite a bash, haven't we?" she asked, patting down her disordered hair.
"Yes, and I'm terribly sorry," he managed to say.
He found himself mortified again when she started laughing.
"Yes, you have managed to say that 62 times so far, and I daresay you truly are. But first, is there any place we can go to call the police and a tow truck? It would probably be best to get the cars out of the road soon."
"Yes, that would be best," he stammered, then managed to look embarrassed as he told her that it was his driveway they were standing on.
"Well, that's easy then. Lead the way!"
As they walked up the drive she introduced herself as Alina Stanton, and revealed that she was a clothes designer for a prestigious firm in town.
He found himself embarrassed once again when he opened the door to his unkempt home; he had to clear a mess of newspapers, bills and various dirty coffee mugs so she'd have somewhere to sit.
She made herself comfortable while he made coffee, called the police, the tow truck and his office. His secretary sounded as if she were muffling laughter as he told her to cancel his meeting because he had gotten in a wreck.
"My, but this is rather good coffee," Alina said, wrapping her hands around the green mug he offered.
