Upon learning that I've been entered into an auto race:
"You want me to race that?"
"But I could die!"
"You have to. We've already printed the flyers."
Luckily I get out of this sticky situation. In my backpack, instead of the black jeans and leather jacket I am supposed to wear, I find a formal, floor-length floral print gown.
"I can't race in this."
"You're right. Call it off."