Some days I’m looking for a fight, and I want my GPS to stand up to me. Don’t just recalculate no matter what boneheaded move I make. I am trying to get a reaction out of you. Tell me I’m an idiot, take over the steering wheel, eject me out the moonroof. Anything.

In fact, I think I’d like my GPS to be moody – so I never know who I’m going to encounter when I get in the car. I’d call her Sybil.

Some days, she’s passive aggressive. “Sure, you could turn right here. I’ll just be over here when you need me to get you out of this self-imposed mess.” Insert exasperated sigh.

Sometimes she is needy, “You asked my opinion and then ignored it. Why do I even bother?” Tears. Sometimes she is smothering, reminding me to call my mother and make sure I have on clean underwear.

At times I need validation. “I’ve seen people go this way, but you know best. What do you think? Have you lost weight?”

I think my favorite is Mafia thug, “I don’t think I can impress upon you enough – you REALLY do not want to exit here. Turn the &$%# around.” And of course, snarky: “Are you kidding me? That is by far the slowest possible route. I hope you packed a lunch.”

Whiny is the hardest to take. She is always asking me to get her something in the drive thru.

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