You’re hunting for a pick-your-own apple orchard in the country to stock up your fridge with baskets of Red Delicious and McIntosh. If your lover is behind the wheel, that makes you The Navigator. And while the name may conjure up adolescent fantasies of zooming through the cosmos, in the grown-up world you’re just the keeper of the map.
Your prime directive: Keep your eyes peeled for signage to verify that you indeed know where you are and have a reasonable idea where you are going. Think of navigating as giving a full-body massage: Be thorough. And above all, don’t just stare at the scenery.
Get caught up bugging out over a sleek Aston Martin, and you’ll risk missing an exit, which can derail your romantic afternoon with a “Where the hell are we now!?” panic attack followed by a “Let’s stop for directions.” And you’ll end up in a “No, we’re cool, I got it” vinegary pissing match that puts you both in that precarious purgatory somewhere between a break-up and make-up sex.
If you still end up raging down an unknown road, windows steaming up due to hot-and-bothered-in-a-bad-way wordplay, then take the blame game out of the car. Pull over at a gas station, preferably one with a Tim Hortons, so you can cool your motors with an Iced Cap. Then smack lips and get back on the road.
|< Prev||Next >|