Yesterday, I got stuck behind a really long freight train on the way home from work. Because my mother is out of town this week, I get to drive myself to work and back. That time in the car is really the only "alone time" I get, and—no offense, family—I really need and cherish that space sometimes. So, for ten glorious minutes, I basked in the sunshine that was pouring over the driver's seat, cranked up the Frank Sinatra on the stereo, and imagined I was in the cute convertible in front of me. And it was fantastic. The end.