Zot!!

Husband indulged his teen-age rebellion over the weekend and tried to send the GPS over the edge. Fio egged him on, contributing several clever remarks and a maniacal giggle a la Will and Grace's sociopathic Karen Walker.

He thought he had set the mechanism so it would record mileage for a non-toll road trip to Frisco's, but apparently the GPS lady does not accept adjustments of so personal a nature and refused to budge. Every time Husband made a turn she didn't approve of, every time he didn't turn where she wanted him to, came the announcement that she was "recalculating."

Husband tried to turn her off at a traffic light, but she had the bit in her teeth and, like an Energizer bunny, kept on going. Frustrated, Husband took a few extra "non-calculated" turns and non-turns, and, I swear, her voice started getting a little testy. I smelled blood.

Husband's eyes narrowed. He was going to do his best to drive her into a nervous breakdown. I assisted with several scathing comments designed to aid our cause.

Somehow we reached Frisco's in a high state of hilarity without the GPS exploding in retaliation, but I have to admit I was a little nervous when we approached the electronically-controlled doors of Lowe's later in the evening, especially since we were entering through the ones labeled "exit." What if GPS Lady had sent word ahead?