Thing One: St. Louis is a beautiful city with literally everything we could ask for including friendly people.
Thing Two: We are still 100% dependent on GPS.
“Oh,” you say, “of course you are! It takes time to learn your way around—you’ll get the hang of it!”
You’re not great at math, are you?
100% dependent. As in we literally can’t get out of our neighborhood without. The GPS. Which has tried to kill us before.
Problem: Husband, who gets to go to an interesting job all day and do “interesting” things* also claims most of the driving privileges. Since, as previously noted, he is the world’s worst passenger, I let this happen. For now.
But his phone and I are not friends.
ME: Okay Google… Is the St. Louis bread company actually—
HIM: You’re not asking a question, you’re just shouting at the phone.
ME: I am asking!
HIM: Okay, but you’re not—
ME: No, look—oh, shit. Wait. STAHP, GOOGLE!
ME: Fuck this noise. I hate your phone.
HIM: How are you pressing random buttons? There are only three!
ME: I don’t know!
HIM: (presses correct button)
ME: Okay Google, Is the St. Louis Bread company actually Panera?
GOOGLE: According to Wikipedia, “at the same time the St. Louis Bread Company was renovating—“
ME: Okay, shut up, that’s all irrelevant.
ME: See? I should have just checked Wikipedia to begin with. (reads) …Yeah, Panera started here as the St. Louis Bread Company. So. Now will you give it another chance and learn to love it?
HIM: I’ll try.
Yes, friends, try to wrap your brains around that one—Husband has a bias against Panera.
No, I can’t explain it. I’ve tried asking him what offends him:
Is it the giant salads made with just about anything you can imagine?
Delicious sandwiches and paninis?
Does he… hate bagels? Bread? Muffins of unimaginable deliciousness?
I know it’s not the smoothies, though he refuses to pay for one since—and I am not making this up—Husband insists if you’re drinking it, it is neither a meal nor a snack.**
But at least he’s agreed to give it another chance, now that it’s a “local thing,” right?
Enter the damned GPS:
ME: Need dinner. Seriously. Necesito num-nums.
HIM: Okay. Want to try St. Louis Bread Company?
ME: Ooh, you’re ready to give them a real chance? (smirks)
HIM: … Let’s just go.
ME: (already in car)
HIM: Shit. You’ll have to guide—my phone is dead.
ME: Okay. (looks down) Are we going to the one on (street)?
ME: (Street)? Or… (Street)?
HIM: No and no. Just… it’s the one over by—
ME: That’s not gonna be helpful information to me yet. I’m looking at—
HIM: See, this is why I hate having you navigate!
ME: Should’ve charged your phone, then. Look, I’m just going to put in the one in (neighborhood). That should be fine.
ME: (clips phone into dash)
HIM: Of course, I’m halfway there.
ME: (looks around) You found your way?
ME: You found your own way while you were giving me shit?
HIM: … Yep.
ME: And you wonder why I hate you.
HIM: Oh, I don’t wonder.
* More on that later. Probably another post, because this one’s gone a bit long and scraggly, but here’s your teaser: there was some inappropriate use of the word “sexy.”
** The man still loves him a smoothie and if I’m making them he wants in… so long as I don’t tell him what I’m putting in it.