I’m jealous of the hussy who speaks to my husband from his dashboard. Even though the tart talks non-stop, constantly giving him directions—“turn left at the light and go a quarter mile”—he LISTENS to her. All of a sudden, he’s listening?
“Isn’t this great?” he shrieked, the first time we turned on the GPS. “Watch this.”
He popped in the address of my son’s school.
She began “turn right at the next block, then turn right again.”
“Wow, she’s very bright…” I countered.
“C’mon, this is awesome. This can take me wherever I want to go.”
Great. Global Positioning System? She’s a Guy Pleasing Slut, if you ask me. Sometimes he likes to turn a different way, just to see how she’ll react. She never gets annoyed. There’s none of the “what are you doing dimwit, you were supposed to turn right. Go make a U-Turn at the Mobil and go back there.” Instead, she automatically adjusts her own directions to help him on his new course. She just calmly says – in that shrewishly pleasant voice—“at the next intersection, make a left.”
I am a little uncomfortable about how my husband breaks a sweat when she announces “you are reaching your destination.” She’s so sure of herself. Meanwhile, last Thursday, she drove us into a ditch. “It was my fault,” my husband said, protecting her. “I veered too much to the right.”
That was the last straw. He is volunteering to take the blame for a driving goof? That’s why last night I decided to re-program the darn thing.
So tonight, as soon as he gets into the car after work to come home, he’ll hear “It’s about time. Hurry up, you’re later for dinner again. But don’t run the light … and slow down …watch the car on your left …looks like he might be drunk…Do we have to listen to this atonal jazz? Let’s listen to oldies…Watch it, there’s a pothole … and look there’s a guy on a bike …do you see the guy on the bike? Why do you always take the long way around the office park? It’s shorter to make the 2nd right then make the left at the top of the hill – No wonder you’re always late getting home.”
As he turns onto Main Avenue, she’ll pipe up “you are two blocks from the Flower Shop. A bouquet for your wife is a nice gesture.”
As he passes the last major intersection, rather than “you are a quarter mile from your destination,” she will say “Again, you’re passing the dry cleaners and not picking up the clothes that have been there for 3 weeks now?” Finally, as he turns into the driveway, she will say “you have reached your destination—and your destiny. And stop smiling at your dashboard. I’m 300 pounds and I have more chin hair than Abraham Lincoln.”