So this morning it was 75 degrees, low humidity, the sky was "severe clear" (as the pilots I used to work around termed it), the top was down on the Beemer, and "Red Barchetta" by Rush was blaring on the car stereo as I wended my way through the twisty farm roads in a pur sang sports car on my way to work. I was having a difficult time feeling sorry for myself.
After work, I again dropped the top on the Zed Three and blitzed home down the same roads. Then I sat on the porch, lit a couple of candles, and watched a smoulderingly gorgeous sunset across the lake. I wouldn't have traded places with anybody on the planet. At times like this, it must suck not being me. ;)