Mr. Schrock came wired with it. In an odd twist of fate, genetics or some inexplicable cosmic mutation, he was born with a unit in place.
Why he showed up in Labor and Delivery like that is beyond me. Before he ever wore a diaper, he had a Garmin. I am not even kidding. Put that guy in a dark room, spin him around ’til he sees the moon, the stars and the other eight planets, and he’ll find the North Star. Then from there, he’ll get us to the closest Krispy Kreme or wherever the, uh, emergency is, and he’s the hero.
I, on the other hand, was only born beneath the North Star. Wait. Maybe it was a more southern one. Anyway, I showed up in Labor and Delivery, dismally lacking any GPS capabilities whatsoever. Put me in a dark room and spin me around until I’m seeing the entire solar system, and it will take me two days to find the door. By then, the donuts are gone, the hot light is off and I’m not the hero. It stinks from here to Kalamazoo, but there it is.
I wish I were more cat like. Cats, we all know, can be thrown up 10 feet, dropped from the fourth floor or flung from an ancient Greek catapult and still land on their feet. Why? And how? To pull that off, you have to know which way is up (that’s north) and which way is down (that’s south). Most days, this is more than I am able to discern, although the fog clears marginally after some coffee. (Marginally. I said marginally.)
Seeing, then, that I wasn’t born with a fur suit and an unerring instinct for direction, it was terribly smart of me to marry a fellow with the aforementioned system. And it was terribly kind of him to purchase a smart phone for this not-feline, teaching me how to download apps (like Starbucks, say) so I can find the nearest store. Meow.