On second thought, I'm not entirely sure how the GPS works either. But if you know me, you are not at all surprised to see a paper map sprawled in my lap whilst in the passenger seat.
The girl is also a driver. She'll tell you straight up she doesn't navigate well. I will second that emotion. It's not entirely her fault. I blame Mini Driver. Not the accomplished actress/singer-songwriter but the irritating voice in the car who thinks she knows more than we do...I don't always agree.
It may have been an awful movie, but Barbra Streisand had it right in that silly movie where she drives across the country with her son...you can't expect to react in feet when you are driving 70 miles an hour! I don't drive in feet.
So here's the deal. We are in Vermont. On beautiful, winding, steep, foggy country roads. I drive my Honda like it's a race car but even here it's not unusual to find yourself going 60mph at any given moment. They are routed roads...not really small town country roads. Just give me a route number and I will follow it. But the girl does what the woman wants. Talks to me like I live there. Mini, if I knew each and every little tiny road and the name by which it goes by, I wouldn't need you.
But that's not how Mini Driver rolls...in route numbers. I think it's job security. If we find out we can use a road map or better yet an actual road sign...she's toast. Molasses topped toast. And instead of just doing her job, she likes to brag and boast her knowledge across the dashboard.
Turn left at Log Hollow Road. Talk to me in numbers Techno-Queen. Route numbers. Log Hollow Road? Are you kidding me? Is she expecting me to see a tiny green road sign tucked around the curve of a Vermont country road in time to actually make the turn?!? With a neighborhood Subaru on my ass spitting windshield washer fluid above its roof like a welcome mat on Barnard Road?
Recalculate this Aviation Blondie...
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