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The Write Mommy For The Job by Jennifer Brown Have GPS, will travel I thought I was doing a good thing when I stuffed a “surprise” into Hubby’s stocking at Christmas time. Certainly he wasn’t expecting a GPS – that would require some admission on his part that he doesn’t always know where he’s going (or, more accurately, he doesn’t ever know where he’s going). He’d never mentioned wanting one – I’m not even sure he knew they existed – but I was sure he could use one. The breadcrumb bill for his commute to work and back every day was starting to add up. He put the GPS in his car, and right away I began to notice something. He began referring, on a daily basis, to his “little friend.” “Who’s talking in the background?” I’d ask when he’d call me on his way home from work. “Nobody – just my little friend,” he’d answer. Computerized voice: “Turn-right-now…” “Is that your GPS?” “It prefers to be called ‘little friend.’” “Ooooo-kaaay.” At first he seemed completely mystified when he’d pull into a correct parking lot or find an elusive street – like I-70 – on the first try. But soon he got cocky about it and would blindly follow his “little friend” wherever it took him. Once I called him from my cell when unable to find an unmarked side street on the way to a basketball game. He had driven from work and was already there. “I can’t find the street – where is it?” I asked, panicked. “I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know? Ask your little friend.” “Gosh…It doesn’t seem right to take advantage like that…Really, she only works for me.” “…She?...” “…What?...” “Nevermind. Just tell me, did you go over the railroad tracks and past the park? Was there a church on the corner?” “I don’t know. She told me to turn and I turned. I didn’t pay attention to the scenery. I don’t have to now.” Now that’s a scary thought. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it sounds as if he actually has a lessened awareness of his surroundings when behind the wheel than he did before. But now it’s gotten ridiculous. Over the weekend he brought her into my car. He turned her up full-blast. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, she interrupted. “So as I was saying –” Computerized voice: “Turn-left-here…” “I was trying to tell you –” Stupid computerized voice: “Drive-point-eight-miles…” “I wanted to say –” Computerized voice that I now hate with every fiber of my being: “Turn-left-now…” “For bleep’s sake, would you shut that thing off?! It’s cutting me off on purpose!” He caressed the GPS. “She has a name, you know.” “…You’ve named it?” “Amelia.” Amelia. Am-eee-lia. She sounds rich. And she probably has a better figure than I do. She would never tell him to “turn right I said right don’t you know your right from your left we’re going to be late again sheesh where’d you get your license a Cracker Jack® box?…” And she probably irons and doesn’t forget to record her debit card charges in the check register and loves to travel and would never dream of calling him a bad name when in labor having their perfect children and… “Well, if Am-eee-lia doesn’t stop interrupting me, I’m going to introduce her to my little friend, Mr. Side-of-the-Road. Understood?” He cocked his ear toward the dash for a second. Then, “Amelia says ‘Bring it on.’” Probably the worst thing about the whole mess is that he’s named her Amelia, after Amelia Earhart. If my fourth grade Social Studies hasn’t failed me, I believe that would be the pilot Amelia Earhart who disappeared during a flight and was never to be found again. Great, we’re right back where we started.
Jennifer Brown is a freelance writer in Liberty, Missouri. The two-time winner of the Erma Bombeck global humor award (2005 & 2006), Jennifer's humor column appears in The Kansas City Star. Contact Jennifer and check out her work at www.jennifunny.com.
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