On Commuting

When I’m commuting, I pretend that every other car — including mine — has a cake in their passenger seat.

Then I’m never stressed.

You figure jerks cars worry about whatever party that cake is for.

When I piss off other cars, I shrug cause I’m trying not to wreck my cake.

What does everyone cares way more about? Cake and parties? Or accidentally mangling the body of some mother of two???