I hate getting lost.
It’s guaranteed to happen when I go somewhere for the first time (or the ninth). I’ve moved to a new town but am slightly familiar with the area, which means I will only get lost 75.6% of the time as opposed to 88.2%. These numbers are based on a highly statistical study of numerical and epic proportions.
That’s why GPS is my BFF. Sure, it directs me to dirt landing strips and businesses that sell hot dogs AND spare auto parts. Yes, sometimes it tells me to continually keep making u-turns. To my credit, I only listen for the first hour then realize it’s a practical joke. Oh BFF…you so crazy.
But get me in the woods? Getting lost has never been so good.
In fact, I prefer not to be found for hours. So if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I’d tell you where I’m going, but then I’d have to find you and not kill you, but tickle your love handles. (I know you’re kinda sensitive about them.) Or I will shout the word “Eureka!!” over and over again, even though I haven’t discovered anything of importance. The choice is yours.
I’m losing time explaining my torture techniques. I’ve already said too much.
Getting lost now…