"Just keep on going straight and logically we'll hit home. Garmin said: straight ahead."
I corrected her politely, "A GPS System is actually an X-Y grid superimposed onto a spherical surface by the triangulation of satellites. Unless we're Mole People who can tunnel underground we're actually traveling in Great Arcs, not straight lines."
"Fuck you Copernicus. I still have sand in my bikini and my back is hitting the critical stage of both peeling and itching. I feel like a snake shedding.
“Enjoy it! Rebirth is God's Gift. If George W can peel off the skin of alcoholism and desertion and become president surely you can shed your sun-burnt bitchiness. ”
I wouldn't have blamed my wife for her geometrical error, but sadly I hadn't cut out the mesh underwear from my swimming trunks. That itchy, constricting web that becomes useless after you no longer need to hide your preteen, aquatic erections was acting like a basketball net that has two balls stuck in it, and no matter how much you poke at them the just get more wedged. Plus, I too had sand grinding like over-dried wheat between my sweaty ass cheeks and the leather seat of the car so I was itching for a fight.
She pointed to the screen, obscuring any chance I had at seeing what she was pointing at. “Look. The unavailable areas on the map are shrinking. That's good.”
“Sounds like the summary of our sex life I gave to the guys at the bar before we got married.”
She glared. “We evolve. For example, back in the days of T-Rex THIS didn't exist.”
Middle finger in my face... Still obscuring vision of the GPS. Then a boom. We both instinctively cover our ears.
We shudder as a huge shadow races over the car heading directly towards our hometown.
“Wait. Weight,” I did some quick reasoning in my head.
“Huh?”
“Weight. Mass. Gravity. Look out the fucking window. What was that?”
“It looks like a big... I don't know... dot?”
“A big dot?!? Dots are small... unless you're talking about dogs, then they vary in size.”
“Well it's getting bigger.”
“Just like dogs. I mean... no... Fucking Jesus... it must be an asteroid. That's what was messing with the GPS sattalites.”
“Well then turn around!”
“Makes no difference.” “At least pull over.”
“Yeah.”
Screeching halt. Terrifying pause.
“Wanna fuck?”
“Oldschool?”
“Oldschool.”
I smile pervertedly. “I'm gonna finger you like a T-Rex.”
“Ughh... if I could cut you off for a year for that comment I would.”
“But extinction!”
“Fine! Two fingers is my preference anyway. It's just the image.”
“You don't think I know your preferences? And even if I didn't know, two fingers is always a good guess. That's probably how the T-Rex went extinct anyway... too good at foreplay.