I’m lost without you… literally

I have a love hate relationship with my GPS unit.

I love it because reading a map in the dark going 80 on the highway is just about as safe as spraying an entire can of super hold hairspray in my hair and walking real close to a lit cigarette.

Translation: It tells you the fastest way to get to your destination and keeps you from rear ending some poor slow driver because you’re trying to decipher whether or not Highway 40 is better than I-70.

I love it because I’m the girl that made it almost to the border of Oklahoma before I realized that I was going the wrong direction to make it home (because Lawrence is northeast of Wichita not south… hello no sense of direction).

Translation: It easily reroutes the trip if you end up on the wrong highway (which would have been handy in the aforementioned trip)

I love it because I have minor panic attacks when I get lost.

Translation: It’s like having a passenger in the car who lets you sing show tunes at the top of your lungs only to interrupt to tell you “freeway exit on the right in two miles” so you don’t end up the the ghetto because you were too wrapped up in singing “Defying Gravity.”

But I do hate my GPS because it’s moody.

Translation: It stops talking to you because you ignored the turn it wanted you to take so, like a junior high girl, it gets defensive and won’t tell you how to get to the airport. I had to promise to be best friends forever and let it borrow my favorite sweater before it talked to me again.