The story of a girl and her GPS

I wasn't looking for someone. I had plans to drive to DC alone and was even looking forward to the solitude. No companion needed; just an atlas and a google map for me, please.

Then someone said, "Hey, do you want to borrow my GPS?" and the seed was planted. I'd never used a GPS before, but like driving on the left side of the road, it's something I always wanted to try. How could I say no?

As I hooked it up and chose the settings I wanted, I decided to skip the woman with the British accent because I really didn't want to listen to Super Nanny the whole way. Without thinking, I skipped right over the male British voice and selected a woman with an American accent.

Her name was Mandy.

We hit it off immediately despite the fact that I had never fallen for a female electronic device before. Mandy knew exactly where I needed to go and was faithful to keep me safely on route no matter how much I challenged her.

Of course, like any relationship ours had its issues. I didn't like when she would beep at me for going five mph over the speed limit. She didn't seem to like when I exited for gas or food. But, we worked it out. My competitive side was also a point of contention. She kept saying it was going to take me 6hrs 50 minutes to reach my destination, but I simply took that as a challenge. By the time I was halfway there, I was kicking her butt and had shaved over half an hour off her ridiculous estimate.

(It has been suggested that competing with my GPS is further evidence that I am a tad overly competitive, but I disagree. And I dare you to say otherwise. Really, I dare you. Wanna put $20 on it?)

So, things with Mandy were really going pretty well all the way up until we reached the DC metro area. Then it all went south so quickly. You see, she sent me down New York Ave. at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. The twenty-five minutes it took me to drive that 1.8 miles totally negated the happy six hours we'd had together. I decided right then that I was going to have to end it. Yes, I knew it would break her heart, but for the ride home, I was going to choose . . . the British man.

Once I made the decision, my heart was aflutter anew, for who could be more enjoyable to listen to during the six (not seven, Mandy!) hour drive home than Hugh or Colin or whatever this lovely British chap's name would be? He would say things like "gare-age" and "motorway," and maybe we would even stop for a spot of tea on the way home.

I was giddy with excitement and could hardly wait to meet him.

Imagine my disappointment to discover that my British paramour was named Tim. Not Hugh or Colin. Not even William or Edward. Just Tim. I should have realized from the start that this relationship was destined to fail.

It began with Tim taking me into the city to get on 295. All the way to the Pennsylvania Ave exit he led me, but still I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He must know how I love to see the sights, and he just wanted to make sure I didn't leave without seeing every memorial and monument possible. I'm sure he had only my best interest at heart. Sadly, that didn't make traffic on 295 move. I grew less and less fond of Tim with every minute of the hour I spent driving approximately 3 mph in a 65 mph zone.

Still, I thought, he must be wonderful; he has a British accent after all. But then he tried to take me the wrong way in Pennsylvania. I knew I needed to stay on 15. Rand-McNally knew I needed to stay on 15. But, Tim, he wanted me to take 11.

I'm sorry, Tim. It's been real, I said, but now you're just being ridiculous, and I'd like to unplug you so I can plug in my ipod since I really know the way home from here anyway.

And with that, I pulled the plug on Tim. Apparently, my affair with electronic devices was not meant to be.

Though I'm eyeing a Kindle on Amazon . . .