Wading in the Velvet Sea

So you can imagine my delight at knowing those days of printing out ill-advised directions from MapQuest were over, and that our new TomTom would take good care of us from now on. Naturally, I set it up in the car right away.I'm the kind of kid who, while growing up, didn't wait a nanosecond longer than I had to in order to start construction of a recently obtained scale model of Castle Greyskull, and it was no different with my new GPS. I entered in my native language, home address, and picked out a voice with which to less-than-sonorously speak the correct directions. Honestly, I didn't like this woman's voice, but after scrolling through the next five increasingly awful options, she sounded downright melodious. I wish I knew the name of this pre-set siren: it began with an "M". Maura? Mona? Minnie? 'Tis a mystery.

What's not a mystery is this: that chick straight up hates us.

See, when we embarked on our first trip, we were making the long journey from central New Jersey to the greater Boston area. After six-plus years and a few dozen roundtrips between all parties involved, we have figured out the best way to go. And that way, by golly, differs from the route that Martha had in mind for us. But I insisted on keeping the TomTom on anyways, just so we'd get used to having the device and so it could charge up during the ride home.

The problems started almost instantly. After navigating our way onto the highway, a mere half-mile from her parents' house, Mimi noted that we would continue on this road for a really, really long time. Much longer than Mrs. Me and myself intended to do so. But that's fine, these things recalculate if you vary from the path/get lost. Putting up with this didn't pose a problem. Marcia simply readjusted the route for us and all was well.

Until we hit the exit for I80 into New York. See, Mallory really had a hunka hunka burning love for this exit. But we didn't want to travel through New York City, nor approach the other destination this exit sign proposed: The Delaware Water Gap. I don't know what a water gap is: all I know is I wanted no part of one. But Meredyth...good gravy, she wanted all parts of it. And I know this because her next seven recalculations all involved some form of "turn your ass around and get on I80 if you know what's good for you".

It was like being in a more benign, yet more passive aggressive version of "2001". Instead of HAL trying to send me out the airlock, I had Maxine making me feel bad about avoiding I80. I've had psycho ex-girlfriends who had an easier time letting go of things than Maureen did letting go of that road.

And so, only seventy-five minutes into our new TomTom-ed life, we shut it off, relegating it to "when it's local and we've never been there" status on the spot. It sat there, silent, much like a scorned relative at a family reunion, unhappy Uncle Louie brought scallops to the potluck when he should know the food allergies of those whom he supposedly loves. Mrs. Me and I felt bad...bad about the silence, bad about hurting Monica's feelings, bad about not leaving tire tread on the way to the Delaware Water Gap.

So, with about fifty miles to go, we turned Mia back on. At this point, we were on the Mass Pike, so really, it's not like she could have tried to re-direct us back to I80 at this point. I couldn't tell if she was still steamed or not, but she really had a fondness for telling us to bear left. Even if bearing left wasn't an option, she still suggested we do so in 500 yards. At one point, she actually said, "Up ahead, bear left, then bear left," leaving the two of us wondering how much left we could really bear to bear.

Now, Molly sits in the closet, patiently awaiting the next time she can tell us to bear left. I can only hope that when that time comes, she doesn't have us bear left into incoming traffic.