Why you should(n’t) eat and drive

I don’t drive, so here’s a little fictional super-short story about a person who does.

One rainy day, a man was driving to work. He was eating a Pop Tart and drinking coffee. All of the sudden, he hits a pothole with water, says “oh, shit!” then swerves right into a woman’s car. He swears again, then comes out of his truck. He looks at the woman’s car, which now has broken pimped-out fender flares on the passenger side. She comes out of her car, and you’d think that she’d beat the hell out of him. Nah…in fact, she said “go on to where you’re going, and I’ll call my insurance. You should call yours”. She proceeded to give him a piece of paper. While walking to his car, he looks back at the woman and her car. He looks at the paper, and it’s her phone number.

Apparently, they went to high school together, and since it was too rainy and everyone was in a rush, she left the small talk to herself. She admitted to him that she had a crush on him, and they’ve been dating ever since. Who knew that such a dangerous situation would turn into this?