Roadtrippin’ with the Barrys

Few things get more giggles than my husband’s driving adventures, so I thought I’d share a little story. Make no mistake—this is not a one-time occurrence. This particular story happens every time we go somewhere, whether it’s across town or across the country. I know as you read, you’ll nod along. If you’re not giggling about your significant other, it’s because you’re the one who does this.

oOo

“Want to get out the GPS?” Liam reaches behind his seat for the little pouch filled with technological marvels.

I look at him like he’s crazy. “We’re going to my parents’ house. They haven’t moved.”

Color creeps up his cheeks, but he holds his ground. “We’ve never driven in from this direction before. Besides, the GPS tells me what time we’re supposed to get there, and I like to shave off as many minutes as I can. It’s like a little game. Beat the satellite.”

I say “fair enough,” but what I really mean is “it’s pointless to argue with you,” and plug in the device that gives anyone anywhere our exact coordinates, should they want them for any reason.

He’s not kidding when he says he’s never approached from our current direction. We chose to check out some antique stores before driving across the state. I, however, have driven almost every highway, interstate, and back road into the town where my parents live. Because he’d rather have the help of the GPS than his wife, I shut up and read a book.

Until I look up and realize we’re on the wrong road.

“The little dot says we’re driving through the middle of a field,” Liam says, smacking the little screen like it’s a misbehaving child. “Something’s wrong with the GPS.”

“No. Something’s wrong with you. You missed the turn about a mile ago. The GPS just doesn’t know because it’s all new roads.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t need me! You needed the GPS. Besides, there were signs everywhere. Why didn’t you just pay attention to those?”

Silence. He has no argument.

I put away the book and prepare to direct him back to the correct highway. I fully accept responsibility for not paying attention to begin with. I should have known; I really should have.

We turn around to head back in the right direction, and within moments, the new intersection appears. I point out the sign with the junction information and tell him to take a left.  He does so without question, and we’re back on course. I don’t pull the book back out, however. I learned my lesson.

A few minutes later, I speak up. “You’ll want to get in the right lane for the turn.”

What does my grateful husband say? “I can read the signs, thanks.”

Where were those skills thirty minutes ago when he took the wrong turn?

Whatever. He’s obviously an engaged driver now, and with the help of his newly acquired abilities and the sometimes-wrong GPS, he no longer needs my help.

Out comes the book again.

Twenty minutes later, Liam smacks the GPS with a curse, and I look up to see we’re on the wrong road again.

“Liam, what on earth?”

“She lied! The GPS lied! And where were you? You could have been paying attention and told me which turn to take.”

I see red, but I don’t leap from the moving vehicle the way I want to. Instead, I help him get turned around again, and when we reach the intersection where the mistake was made, I helpfully point out the sign he missed the first time.

“Thanks,” he says with an eyeroll. “I can read.”

oOo