Yesterday I went to visit Tante Jet in Steenwijk, which is approximately 112 km to the north east of Hengelo. My navigational skills are the stuff of legend but I refused Jet’s offer to send me detailed directions to her house. I am golden. I have a Garmin GPS.
Therein lies the problem: I don’t entirely trust Garmin.
Garmin told me to take the first exit off the highway by Almelo, but my instincts said to ride on to the next exit. I was sure Garmin was sending me through the charming town of Nijverdal, famed for stoplights situated every 25 meters along the main drag. This is to be avoided, especially at lunchtime. Of course I completely ignored Garmin and followed my gut…which sent me straight through the heart of Nijverdal. Even worse, I had to follow a flatbed truck transporting 2 prefab houses and no opportunity to pass until I hit Zwolle.
Thank goodness Jet wasn’t upset that I was late. The gabfest began when I walked through the front door and continued all afternoon with short breaks for coffee and lunch. I told her about my reluctance to trust Garmin and she remarked, “Are you really such a control freak?” Tante Jet, who freely admits to being a bit of a control freak, doesn’t mince words, but that’s always been ok with me. In fact I was wondering the same.
On reflection, I don’t think I’m a control freak per se. A little over-confident of my navigational ability at times, but not really a control freak.
Today at dance class we rehearsed a dance we’re performing for I’s 50th wedding anniversary. It’s shaping up nicely and after class we had a good old lounge around the studio living room with coffee.
We talked about this and that and I mentioned I’d be attending a chic cocktail party in Amsterdam tomorrow. Outfit and shoes were discussed, then somebody asked if I were excited. Terrified is a better word for how I’m feeling.
I love dressing up. I love throwing parties. People say I’m a damn good hostess, however as a guest, I am not so hot.
Small talk is a skill that eludes me. You would think that being small of stature would make me a natural small talker, but unfortunately the two do not go hand in hand. I never know what to say when I meet people and have, on occasion, come out with the most wildly inappropriate remarks that make me cringe to this day. I’m a visual thinker; my world is a non-stop Gary Larson “Far Side” comic.
Most of the time I endure these sort of functions by hanging around the fringes of a group, nodding and grinning a bit, drinking wine and being bored out of my skull. My driving adventure has me wondering though; wouldn’t it be cool if there were a “Party Garmin”? What would Party Garmin tell me to do? I might be inclined to listen.