Excerpts from New Book…If 40 Is The New 20, I Must Be 10

With the invention of the new GPS systems, life on the road has become interesting. I use the word, “ interesting”, not “easier”. Gone are the days of printing out maps an old person can’t read while driving. Now, we can program that GPS to our destination, punch the “Go” button, and get detailed instructions from Miss Whiney Pants. I say this with all due respect, for “Sister” has kept me on the right path many times, but if that girl says, “Recalculating” one more time, I will clip her chords.
The hubby and I have sat, on many a day, in our driveway screaming at each other while we attempt to program the GPS. I touch, “Where To”, click on “Favorite Places”, assuming that Sister knows where I want to go. She doesn’t. I get a message that says:
I begin to type. I hit the first three keys correctly, but miss the fourth letter. Sister, who is faster than a speeding bulletin, types back:
“Dallardsville, Tx.?”
Hubby just drummed out the lyrics for Swan Lake, so I need to hurry.
Not Dallardsville, Sister. I need to go to Dallas.
This time, I spell correctly. Now, it’s time for more instructions.
I begin to type in the word, “Texas” when my fake fingernail slips off of the ‘x’ key and hits ‘j’ instead.
Sister replies:
Tejas, Kansas? Tejas, California? Tejas Illinois?
My head begins to spin like something out of the Exorcist. Blood is rushing to my face, and hubby reaches over me to grab Sister out of my hands.
“I’ve got it!” I yell in a voice loud enough to melt his good eardrum.
I start over.
This time, I get it right. I’m ready for the next set of instructions.
I begin to type. 6065 Pickwick Court
Sister answers back:
666 Picnik Court?
“No, you Satanic nimcompoop” I squeal.
“What did you just call me?” hubby asks.
“Nothing,” I growl.
I type out the address numbers again.
6065 Pickwick Court
666 Nitwit Court?
By this time, Ray is gunning the engine and smoke is coming out of both him and the hood.
“Forget the GPS,” he yells. “I’ll find the place myself or stop and ask for directions.”
I know his mind has melted with the manifold. He never asks for directions.
“I’ll handle it, honey,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. Carefully, I type in the address:
6065 Pickwick Court, Dallas, Texas
Now, you are probably thinking that things will flow smoothly from here. How old did you say you are? Because if you are over 55, you know that you will be wrangling with Sister over hill and vale. And, if you’re lucky enough to arrive at grandmother’s house, you will look and sound like the Big Bad Wolf.
Sister’s whiny voice comes on. Go right. Then, go 1.2 miles and turn left. Turn left. We are barely moved down the road, and sister is leading us on a blind goose chase. So, what can you do but pick her up and change her signals. This will be easy. First, I re-type the directions.
Go right,then go left. She repeats this twice. I look at my husband.
“Look, I know how to fix this. I will just re-enter our home address and Sister will lead us to Dallas.” I forgot one important thing. Sister obviously hates Dallas.
START: I type in “Home”
Sister replies: 6065 Pickwick Court
“What the heck?” I yell out loud. “Sister thinks our destination is our starting point. What am I going to do now?”
Hubby looks at me with that, “I’ll be calling the men in straight jackets to come for you soon” look.
“Take it slow,” he says, in that way too nice tone which totally irritates me.
START: I type in my home address, each number and letter slowly written.
Sister writes back: Destination address?
There is no button for, “No you idiotic machine”, so I turn off the machine and prepare myself to start over. By this time, hubby has made his way out of the city limits. Suddenly, he pulls over and stops the car.
“What are you doing?” I say, not slowly or calmly.
“We’re turning around, going back to the house, and look at a Texas map.”
Something tells me this guy is a keeper.

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