Let me be clear, this was not my choice. And, while the first few lines are appropriate, the rest of the lyrics dissolve into a what-used-to-be-wonderful-in-our-lives love story.
The irony is, for me it turned out to be perfectly appropriate. I had NO idea where I was going -- figuratively or literally.
As for the latter, I have never had a good sense of direction. If such a thing is hereditary, I believe I got the gene from my aunt. She told a story of a time she was invited to an event at someone's house with a group of people she'd corresponded with but never met. She got to the general area and kept driving around the neighborhood until she saw a house with a bunch of cars parked in the driveway, and figured she must have reached her destination.
She went in, introduced herself, and had a perfectly lovely time.
A few weeks later, she got a note from her group, saying they were sorry she wasn't able to attend. She never did find out whose party she crashed.
This is me all over. Mr. Ginley learned long ago that if I was navigating and told him to turn left, he should turn right. If I were a bird, I'd spend all my winters freezing my tail feathers off in Canada. I simply don't have the inner map that tells me where to go. (Although there are a number of folks, I am certain, who would love to tell me.)
Any journey to a new destination in which I fly solo involves excruciating planning. I consult Google maps and print out enlarged views so I know what the cross streets are before my point of arrival. Thanks to Mr. G., my skills have improved somewhat. He's said when he's no longer crawling the earth, I should probably get a GPS. Of course, those things aren't infallible. There was a tour bus in England that drove into a lake because the GPS said there was a road there. (It had been removed.) So one must still use one's noggin.
And Google maps are far from foolproof. One of the directions we were given in getting to my nephew's wedding was, "Drive over the Key Bridge and do a U-turn." During rush hour? Seriously? No, we didn't do that. We weren't feeling suicidal.
My problem is that not only do I have a difficult time navigating new territory, I also have to stop and think where I am going in familiar places. When we drive around Parma, for example, my spouse will spout, "But you grew up here! What do you mean you don't know which way to turn?" At which point I tell him the particular street we are on is not one which I frequently traveled, and, anyway, I didn't drive most of the time I was growing up, so I didn't have to pay attention. I could sit back and let Dad do the driving.
All of which just goes to show, I really do need a chauffeur to drive my sorry ass around town.
One with a very good sense of direction.
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