It's a cold July Morning (I'm talking about North Pole cold here) and I'm performing my morning rites at some seedy breakfast joint in town.

All seems well given the atmospheric circumstances. As I get ready to down my eggs the morning quite gets shattered a turbo-charged rumble. Some religious type in her mid-forties sitting next to me condemns the driver by quoting a biblical verse (which i bet is misinterpreted). I start getting some strange gut affects as two figures step out of the car and head for the hotel entrance.

The plot thickens. I expect some muscled douche wearing a tight fitting t-shirt (weather not withstanding) to walk in talking loudly into his (five figure) cell phone with some air-headed affair clinging to his sinewy arm. Instead two rather shapely females, both on the younger side of 22, walk in. One holds my gaze. She nudges her friend and they slip on the two empty seats next to me. The aforementioned religious type makes no bones of her disapproval at the site two females driving around town unaccompanied by some male chaperon.

They make their order. Two black coffees and scrambled eggs. They insist they want it quick. Then the one who held my gaze earlier adds (rather superfluously to the ignoramus of a waiter) that they have to be in Meru town before the first rally car gets flagged off the podium. I feel my ego atomizing. A female rally fan? I start racking my humble mental reservoirs for a suitable opening line. Nothing.

They then start talking of things that women usually don't talk of. Horizontally opposed engines. Forced induction. Variable geometry turbo chargers. Torque wrenches. Torque. Horsepower. Sebastian Loeb... and for good measure they add in double-entendre?s like 'lubricant' and 'socket' I'm sold. I have to make their acquaintance.

But just as I'm about to make my move , one of them whips out what i think is an i phone (the real thing not some Chinese knock off ) hits the speed dial and some male somewhere answers to this salutation '
"Hi Hon? Me and Chichi are in Embu but I swear on my WRX we'll be there in an hour tops" An hour tops? That's over 150 Km in an hour!

My heart mellows. My throat dries up. And before i know it my turbo charged female friends are through with their black coffee and scrambled eggs. They get into what has now been revealed to be a Subaru Impreza WRX. I try to catch a glimpse through the window to ascertain if it?s the STi version but roar for the twin exhausts suggests i rethink my ambitions. I'm shattered. I never get to know them personally as they speed off. And yes, it was a manual transmission. I could tell from the engine note. Something about a woman shifting a gear knob with talent appeals to the animal in me.

Chichi and your friend, I hope we'll meet again.....

This piece was written and submitted by a Jalopnik reader and may not express views held by Jalopnik or its staff. But maybe they will become our views. It all depends on whether or not this person wins by whit of your eyeballs in our reality show, "Who Wants to be America's Next Top Car Blogger?"