Yesterday the husband and I went to Madison, Mississippi for a few hours so that we could go to a party for our friends Todd and Marti. We got there in time to help with just a teensy bit of party set-up before the actual shin-dig started.
(By the way, have you ever watched about ten Southern women set up for a party?)
(No? Well, it is a SIGHT TO BEHOLD.)
(It is also a veritable festival of capri pants, but that is another story for another time.)
D and I had a really wonderful afternoon – lots of good conversation and laughs and whathaveyou – despite the fact that there were a couple of I-may-be-calling-you-“honey”-but-make-no-mistake-I-would-not-renew-our-wedding-vows-right-now-if-you-paid-me-cash-money moments in the car because of my tendency to think that I know a shortcut to pretty much everywhere.
Unfortunately, my directional hubris caused us to drive aimlessly around your various and sundry suburban neighborhoods not once but twice, and we also ended up heading toward Nashville on the Natchez Trace when really all we were trying to do was get to a Barnes & Noble on the other side of the interstate.
(NOTE TO THE INTERNET: ULTIMATELY WE MADE IT TO BARNES & NOBLE, SO CLEARLY I WAS ABLE TO GET US TO OUR DESTINATION, AND IN THE END THAT IS ALL THAT MATTERS, THANK YOU.)
D suggested a little bit ago that maybe my problem with directions is that I think I know where I’m going even when I don’t. However, I’m not so sure that it’s an actual “problem” because, HELLO, I’m relational, and taking the occasional road less traveled enables me to become more familiar with my surroundings as well as the people who live in whatever area we’re visiting.
So there’s purpose to my mapless wanderings, you see.
Oh, I do appreciate a good scenic route.
The only exception to this rule is when I can’t seem to find my way to the nearest Popeye’s, in which case I’ll immediately call a friend or family member and ask them to look up the absolute shortest route on Google maps, then plead with them to not hang up the phone until I’ve made it to the drive-thru because I CANNOT RISK A MISSED TURN WHEN FRIED CHICKEN IS AT STAKE.
I’m sure you understand.
So.
Who’s the road trip navigator in your family?
And.
How does he or she pull off this role without making everyone else in the car CRAZY NERVOUS INSANE?
I’m just, you know, wondering.
In the interest of scholarly research and all.
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