Some marriages rot from within – I’ve seen it happen, due to lack of communication or fundamental conflict of values, deep underlying resentments – some are sabotaged by “friends” or family members who honestly believe they’re working in the best interests of one or both parties.
I have come to the conclusion that there is a GPS conspiracy, hard at work against my marriage.
Now, obviously part of the problem is that I hate Husband’s phone and he hates mine. This, however, is a common issue for couples to face and it’s easily sorted by deciding that the person who is driving (or, alternately, the person who is navigating) gets to use the device of their preference. Period. Always. And we’ve done that, so that part’s fine.
There’s also the fact, as we’ve established, that Husband is the actual worst passenger since Henry Ford first decided to put a second seat in his horseless carriage.*
But I know all about that, and can work with it by simply letting him drive, or reminding him every few feet not to be a ginormous asshole.
However, the GPS is decidedly not helping.
GPS: You should reach your destination by 1:29
HIM: We’ll be there in six minutes.
ME: I… (growl)
HIM: I have one job to do. It’s a stupid job, but I’m going to do it.
ME: (side glare)
HIM: Like on Galaxy Quest!
GPS: In about 900 feet, your destination is on the right.
HIM: It’s right up here.
ME: Put. It. Away.
I could be wrong… It might simply be trying to get us killed. I mean, there was this thing, from a few days ago. Husband was driving, and we were utterly lost because GPS was fucking with us.
GPS: Get ready to turn right on County Road A
ME: Ooh, look! Ducks!
HIM: (distracted) yep
ME: I want one
GPS: Turn left on County Road A
ME: Wouldn’t he make a good pet? The freckled one?
HIM: Yeah! You should grab him
ME: You know, one of these times, you’re going to say that and I’m going to go grab it.
GPS: (bingbong noise) Turn!
ME: And then you’re going to be all “Fuck! I have a duck now!” And I’ll name him Rory. And then I’ll get a girl duck to keep him company, and name her Amy.
HIM: Right, because the Ponds.
GPS: (apropos of nothing) You have arrived.
ME: (glares at vicious GPS)
HIM: (confused, looks around at trees and dirt road and all)
* Somebody go dig him up right now and give him hell for not thinking to include a ball gag with the passenger seat.