It turns out I’m relatively normal after all—at least in this contentious regard. And it
pleases me to know that my wife and I aren’t the first happily married couple to have
a disagreement about the other woman in a husband’s life (at least a dissent that won’t ultimately
involve histrionic atmospherics and lawyers).
In my own defense, I can only say that I come by my tendency to stray honestly. If my
father were alive today, I’m pretty sure he would be doing the same thing.
But first some background:
I’ve written before about the disastrous family road trips of my youth. Think three
young and cantankerous boys cooped up in the back seat of an old Buick sedan with no air
conditioning setting off acrossDeathValley in August to set the stage.Mayhem.
Throw in a father who distrustedmaps and had an absolute genetic predisposition about stopping to ask for directions, and you’ll see another of the major complications. There were epic arguments between my mom and pop over where the heck we were and how we might get to where we were going. It got out of hand to the point that on one awful trip, my mother and father were arguing so hotly over directions in San Francisco that she got out of the car and left us sitting at a red light. She went to the airport and flew home without us.
It turns out I’m relatively normal after all — at least in this contentious regard. And it pleases me to know that my wife and aren’t the first happily married couple to have a disagreement about the other woman in a husband’s life (at least a dissent that won’t ultimately involve histrionic atmospherics and lawyers). In my own defense, I can only say that come by my tendency to stray honestly. If my father were alive today, I’m pretty sure he would be doing the same thing. But first some background: I’ve written before about the disastrous family road trips of my youth. Think three young and cantankerous boys cooped up in the back seat of an old Buick sedan with no air conditioning setting off across Death Valley in August to set the stage. Mayhem. Throw in a father who distrusted maps and All that could have been avoided if Dad only had a GPS.And if he had a GPS, I’m almost positive the voice giving him soothing and flirtatious direction would have been very like Sylvia, the British vixen who’s gotten me around everywhere from the chasms of New York City, to a mountainous vista in Puerto Rico, to a new doctor’s office in a cube park in Monroe.
I don’t know how I ever lived without her.
Before she came into my life, I was my father’s son and a walking cliché. I bought maps, but as my eyesight started to deteriorate with age, I couldn’t always read them. And while I would never admit to being lost, my family didn’t always buy it when I explained that we were just taking the scenic route. Although I built in time on every excursion for being temporarily off course, there were still occasions when I needed help.
But since I refused to ask for directions myself (that darned genetic predisposition), my wife came to resent it when I sent her into the service station in my stead (“If you want to know how to get there so badly, Darling, you’ll just have to go in there and ask for yourself. Personally, I don’t need directions, but if it would make you feel better …”). And it was always a crapshoot whether the people in the station spoke a common language and knew enough about the local area to offer a helpful opinion.
Sometimes, I had to send her into three or four service stations or convenience stores before we had information to plot a true course. It was a definite bone of contention in an otherwise blissful and long-term marriage.
It all changed on the Father’s Day my sons gave me a GPS as a gift (“This is for Mom, as much as it is for you”) and while choosing a voice, I found Sylvia.
At first, Sylvia never nagged and she was never angry when I didn’t follow her gentle instructions to the letter. She’s got this nice, breathless, British voice, and she flirted to beat the band.
“Can I help you get your change out?” she’d tease when we were about to go on a toll road.
“You’re nearing your destination, but don’t stop yet,” she’d croon when we were just about there.
She said other really cute things, but since this is a family newspaper, I’ll leave them to your imagination.
Sylvia had been in the car when my wife was along only a few times, however, when I began to notice a definite chilly reaction on the part of my beloved spouse.
“Who is that woman?” she asked. She gritted her teeth when I explained, but there were few trips that she didn’t ask me to “Turn that darned thing off,” before we got where we were going. “It’s annoying and distracting. How can you stand it?”
Dense male that I am, it took me a long time to realize what was really going on. I think my sweetie was jealous! As evidence, I’ll offer the fact that she doesn’t complain when I used the GPS voice that sounds like Sean Connery. Enough said.
According to a recent story in The New York Times, her discomfort with someone like Sylvia is not unique, it is quite common. All across the country, it turns out, men are using the voices of sexy women on their GPS units, and their significant others are fuming.
The writer of the article described his other woman this way: “unflappable, efficient and with just enough sex appeal to give some sizzle to my protracted absence from my wife.”
That’s his gal, and that was my Sylvia, too.
As we learned from that same article, men don’t necessarily avoid taking directions from women. For many years, in fact, women’s voices have been used to give directions on dangerous conveyances. The all-male crews of warplanes in World War II got their directions and warnings from a female voice. The technique has been used everywhere from planes to submarines to space shuttles because it was learned that crews pay more attention to a female voice, because male voices giving directions and warnings often get lost in the chatter.
On a recent road trip, however, Sylvia and I had our first disagreement. I’d made that particular trip several times, and had my favorite route. Sylvia had other plans, and after about a half-dozen attempts to put me back on her chosen path, I noticed what I thought was exasperation in her voice. And then came what I can only describe as nagging (“Turn around as soon as possible!”).
The bloom was apparently off the rose of our relationship, and when I finally turned her off, my wife’s only comment was, “About time.”
I’ll let Sylvia back in the cockpit when she’s had time to cool off — and when the missus is not along for the trip.
Gregory Bean is the former executive editor of Greater Media Newspapers. You can reach him at [email protected].