Monday, September 12, 2011

There is a Diagnosis for My Condition

Today I discovered I am disabled and I have never been quite so relieved in all my life.  I have become diagnosed as directionally-challenged.

That's socially correct for "can't find her way out of a cardboard box".

My  husband took pity on me and purchased my last car equipped with a navigation system.  "Now you won't have any trouble," he assured me.

He even programmed the voice to a nice, smooth, silky, male, Latin tone and "Roberto" and I became acquainted on my next trip out of town.

Never trust a man who refuses to stop for directions.  I arrived at my 2:00 p.m meeting at 3:00 p.m.

"I'm breaking up with Roberto," I told my husband when I got home.
"You weren't listening to his directions," he accused me.
"Oh, I was listening alright," I insisted.  "The problem is that when he speaks, the last thing I think of is direction."

And because the love of my life is just so wonderful, he reprogrammed the voice to a dull, female monotone.

With "Lola's" help, I am healing little by little.  We've become fast friends and she pretty well gets me where I need to go.  She's even sent me solo a time or two, and since I'm such an expert at following directions, we're even discussing the possibility of giving Roberto another chance.

Until next week,


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