When I was first dating my wife, I think it was our second date, she was driving a ratty old 82 SAAB 900 that her dad had handed down to her. While she was coming to a stop at a light, the brakes failed on her and she panicked. I reached over and pulled the emergency brake (luckily on the transmission tunnel and not by the driver's door in that car), and we stopped in time to just barely kiss the rear bumper of the car in front of us. The driver looked in his rear view mirror with a "WTF?" expression and I sheepishly mouthed "sorry". She made me drive the car back to her house on the emergency brake, as she was too scared. I then diagnosed it as the master cylinder, went to the auto parts store that afternoon and bought a new one, installed it and bled the brakes, and got her back on the road. She says now that was when she decided I might be worth marrying, but that she foolishly didn't realize that I came as a package deal with an unending string of "old ugly smelly sports cars".