On The Road With The Other Woman

My husband Bill and I returned Wednesday evening from a vacation in Ireland. Witness the shot I have downloaded from my digital camera. I have done this both to share our visit to the Emerald Isle and to prove that I am now adept at the process of downloading. Adept may be too strong a word as this was actually a picture of Bill and me at Giant's Causeway. Alas, I've experiened a glitch. Just visualize us in front of the rock.

We chose to design our own trip rather than join a tour and be held to scheduled stops and time constraints. We would be masters of our own vacation. We would answer to no one. For two solid weeks it would be just the two of us roaming the Irish countryside; the two of us taking in the forty shades of green first hand; and at the end of the day, the two of us retiring to a guest room at a quaint B&B alone.

All of that changed a week or so prior to our leaving when a friend suggested we take Rhonda along with us. Let me add, this suggestion was made to Bill, not to me. On the occasion of said suggestion, Bill and I were with a group of people I previously thought to be of high moral character when Joe took Bill aside. At that very moment I noticed a button was missing from my favorite jacket. Since the light was better where Bill and Joe stood talking, I chose a nearby spot to search look for my button. I overheard Joe make this Rhonda suggestion to Bill. It worked so well for Kathy and him, Joe thought we might like to try it too. I had always thought Joe a pretty straight-laced family guy and was shocked at the visions this brought to mind. Joe went on to tell Bill that having Rhonda along took a lot of the pressure off Kathy as they traveled. Joe was evidently friskier than I gave him credit for and Kathy more open-minded than I had perceived. Bill told Joe he’d think about it. I assured myself my faithful husband did so only to spare making an ugly scene. Joe added he’d drop Rhonda off at our house, if we liked. Not in this lifetime, I vowed silently.

The next morning, Bill mentioned Rhonda and how it might be a good idea to take her along on vacation. After I poured the hot coffee into his cup, but before I poured it into his lap, he mentioned Rhonda was a GPS as if that gave her a license for perversity. I told him I didn’t care if she was an MBA, CEO, or CPA. There was no place for her in our life.
How was I to know that Kathy and Joe felt the need to name their Global Navigation System? I cited this as proof positive that humans are interacting entirely too much with machines. Nonetheless I consented to allow Rhonda to join us. What harm could a little electronic device do?

We first engaged Rhonda at the airport in Shannon, Ireland. Before I could hum the verse to Danny Boy, she had miraculously locked in our location and directed us to our first destination, The Cliffs of Moher. Ronda got us there with no problem. Bill was quite smitten by her. He was oblivious to her lack of manners. He didn’t take offense as she constantly interrupted my attempts to read aloud from our travel guide. She thought nothing of butting in with Turn right here. Turn left there. Watch for a roundabout in two miles.

Our next stop was Galway and Rhonda took us there as well. My replacement’s cute little screen beamed as she hung from the windshield showing the road we traveled and supplying information such as what direction we were headed and how long it would take to get there. Bill was impressed. This man who takes directions from no one complied with Rhonda’s every command. He even shushed me to listen to her. I tossed the guidebook into the backseat acknowledging my defeat. He didn’t care that our backseat driver never said Please turn right or please turn left preferring instead to order us here and there. Rhonda was definitely on the bossy side.

From Galway, we drove to Dingle—a site I knew to be voted the most beautiful place on earth by National Geographic. I waited for smarty-pants Rhonda to mention that, but she was all about herself as she once again commandeered our drive and my husband’s attention along with it.
Along the way, we missed a turn and Rhonda did not appreciate it. In my opinion, Rhonda had not given us ample warning. But did Bill raise his voice at her? No way. And did Rhonda apologize to us? Did she say Oops, my bad. or I should have given you more warning? I’ll have you know she barked at us to Turn around as soon as possible. She assumed no responsibility for the incident. We turned around and I swear she snickered as we resumed our route.

As we drew closer to Dingle we encountered some narrow rural roads, many of them unnamed. Miss Rhonda must be a city slicker, as she didn’t like this one bit. Her screen showed us driving amuck in green spaces and sometimes floating on a body of water. She recalculated our route more times than the government does the national debt. She directed us to turn left in one hundred feet and followed that with turn right in twenty-five feet. Rhonda was lost, but not willing to admit it as I always did—sometimes before Bill started the car. Bill was not upset with Rhonda and asked me to check on her to see how she was faring.

When we finally reached Dingle, Rhonda had caught up with us and acted as if nothing had happened. Bill excused her behavior saying the roads were too small for the satellite to pick up though he would expect me to identify a back alley in downtown New York.

When we pulled into the drive of our B&B, Rhonda finally went too far. She announced You’ve reach your destination. We continued down the drive and again she said, as if we were too stupid to know it, You’ve reached your destination. Bill turned the car around in the lot. A third time Rhonda lost her cool and all but screamed You’ve reached your destination. Bill finally saw Rhonda for the electronic dictator she really was and pulled her plug. Then I shoved her into the glove compartment. It was the end of the road for Rhonda.