I think my Garmin is trying to kill me. Could it be she has figured out a way to contest my will? Does she really think she’d be happier without me? I don’t know, but once she sent me the wrong way on a one-way road, and another time I was trying to find my new realtor’s office and Miss Garmin told me to hang a right when I was in the middle of the Highway 59 bridge over the Brazos River.
I called the cops, but they don’t believe me. They ask how something so small and colorful could be that evil.
I like the way the damned things holler "Turn around! Turn around!" then go in to that "Recalculating route!" routine every time you go haring off in a direction they don't like.