Dashboard confession?

I was sitting in my SUV at a red light taking a break from the rat race I call my daily commute and I took a moment to look around. To my left there was an acne faced teenager using his rear view mirror to inspect a freshly popped pimple on his face. A man turning in front of me had his finger stuck so far up his nose that I wondered if he was tickling his brain yet. There was a woman behind me making hand gestures while talking to air, or perhaps she was conversing with the voices inside her head, or maybe just the person on the other end of the blue tooth stuck in her ear. All of these sightings struck a funny chord with me and I began to laugh hysterically. What is it about our cars that makes us feel so comfortable that we will let our transgressions go as quickly as the flicked cigarette butt out the window? Is there anything we won't do in our cars? We pick our noses, pick our pimples and pick at the buttons on our radio with the same sticky fingers. We serenade the dome light at the top our lungs, and in the next breath, we curse at the idiots holding up traffic. We loose our virginity in the back seat, and smoke our first joint in the front. We love our cars with passion, and glee, and ride them a hard as we do life itself. What is it about the interior of that reinforced steel and safety glass that makes us feel so safe, so protected from the harsh realities of the world? If we really knew the answer, would we feel the same way? I'm not sure we would. I'm not sure I want to know. But what my inquiring mind does want to know is what transgressions do you let go of when you climb behind the wheel and feel the rumble of the motor through your feet? Yes, my inquiring mind wants to know. At least I think it does.....