My dating disaster dates back a Zillion years: my graduation party. I ended up with the man of my dreams in the back of my Volkswagen beetle. He was wearing whatever; I was wearing my left boot. The latter had gotten stuck under the drivers seat with my foot in it -- don't ask me why -- and I was trying to free myself, giggling hysterically, when the door of my car opened and a cop jovially said "Goooood Morning!!"
I jumped, kicked out, and knocked the driver's seat of the rail. Meanwhile the cop was heaving the time of his life, as I was naked AND spreadeagled, pinned under the seat. My friend was grinning, as he miraculously was wearing all his clothes and was only slightly disarrayed.
It took us ten minutes to convince the cop to leave, and another twenty minutes to get the seat back on the track. . .