RIP Cricket

I sometimes chide my husband and sisters-in-law, and friends in general for addictions to their GPS. When my parents first got their GPS-equipped Caddy, my dad ultimately disabled the entire system playing with it and entertaining himself by making the car speak to him in different languages. It eventually became stuck on an Italian woman.

I understand the use of directional helps. I love google maps and my iphone nav systems - mostly because they don't yell at me, "RECALCULATING ROUTE!" like an unhappy spinster taking out her frustrations on an unsuspecting neighbor child (when there is no recalculation necessary). Partially because they allow me to still feel like I'm taking some kind of active part in the process of navigation. Like I'm doing it myself.

So when I started out on the road to Lexington from Akron last week, it didn't even occur to me that I should look up directions. I've driven this route a few times, now. I know where I'm going. And I do. But in order to take the right exits without a voice screaming at you from a nasty dash-mounted electric box there's a catch - you have to pay attention. Which I wasn't doing.

Because as soon as I got on the interstate, I noticed this and became immediately and completely distracted:

I don't know where he came from, but that little guy was so cute. And vulnerable. And about to die. I was sure of it. He was holding on for dear life, antennae flapping in the wind, legs gripping onto perilous holds. I seriously considered pulling over to let the little guy off, but I thought it was no use. He'd never make it past the exit. I kept watching, thinking that the next time I sped up or hit a wind or passed a semi, he'd be ripped off the sideview and thrown into certain death.

I mean, this thing was tenacious. He hung on for a good 20 miles and by that time, I was imagining his stress and cramping muscles. His wife and kids back home. I was stressed out. Then he started making some kind of Macgyver move, tucking his thorax into the space between mirror and casing and there was hope! HOPE!

Then when he made the final move - a thud on the side of the car door as he flew off. Death. RIP Cricket. Gah.

I looked up, eyes fully focused on the road again for the first time in 20 miles and noticed - I had driven completely out of my way. Maybe a screaming GPS might have been a good thing in that circumstance.

Wouldn't have done the cricket any good though.