Forsaken Land and GPS

I drove into the Forsaken Land today for a doctor's appointment. Shane met me there to hang out with the kids so I could, you know, meet with the doctor and have privacy.

I would have preferred the closer office location, but that meant a very long wait to get in. So I chose the Forsaken Land. I called Shane three times because the directions were so confusing.

"I've got the same directions you have and I'm here waiting for you," he said.

"These were obviously written by a man," I said. They use a special man code.

After three calls and six wrong turns, I found the place. I felt dirty even stepping out of the car and knew I'd want to bathe when I got home. The letters were weathered and peeling off the door. The visit itself, a bit seedy. I'll spare you the details.

Once back in the car, Shane reviews the three turns I need to make to point me home. I leave the parking lot first, and he trails. Driving past the first turn I needed to make, I call him.

"I missed the first turn, didn't I?" I ask.

"Yeah, but you can keep going--"

"No, no. I don't want to make this any harder. I'm turning around."

He follows after giving a brief review.

"You probably shouldn't follow me," I say.

It was like he never spoke. Or I only remembered things in reverse, as I found myself about to take the wrong ramp into Oblivion. I correct immediately and get into the left-turn lane. Shane is behind me, visibly laughing hysterically. I don't bother calling him. We both know.

So then, I get onto the Big Road and try merging into big congestion and look into my rearview mirror to see my husband going One Way, while I'm going a Different Way.

My phone rings.

"I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY AGAIN?!" I answer.

He's laughing.

"I'M NEVER GOING TO FORSAKEN LAND AGAIN!" I dramatize.

"We're definitely installing your GPS tonight when I get home," he says.

"If I'm not home by dinner, you're on your own," I say, hanging up.

I get home safely, with only a minor detour, and am making plans with a friend for next week.

"Let me get my calendar," I say. Only it's not in the diaper bag. Or on my car's front seat where I thought I left it. No, I realize, I left it at the doctor's office. In the Forsaken Land.

A quick call confirms it. I call Shane.

"They're going to mail it to me," I said, relieved and grateful.

"You mean you don't want to drive and get it? It's only ten wrong turns away."

Funny. Very funny.