We've moved three times since 2006. Before that we'd lived in Miami for a dozen years, and I was just about able to get myself home from the library, the grocery store, and my favorite thrift shop without getting hopelessly lost.
In '08, on the way home from Des Moines, we stopped off at Best Buy and got a family GPS. My world changed in ways both innumerable and wondrous. Two years later, after a disastrous day-trip with too many children through the Poconos sans digital navigator, I got my own GPS to keep in the van.
Although she's gotten me out of a plethora of sticky situations and slightly shady neighborhoods, I've had a bit of a personality conflict with Leslie, the somewhat snarky voice inside the magic box. Oftener than not, I've found myself ranting at her en route to wherever: "Recalculating, are you? D'you think that might have something to do with the fact that you told me to turn 10 seconds after we passed the exit? Hmm?" (This provides endless entertainment to my brood and my fellow drivers. Really, folks...that's why I'm here.)
Leslie was stolen from my car early this fall, and for the next 10 days or so I relied on Google Maps to get me to all of my exotic destinations, including the pediatrician and an ill-timed workshop in a part of the city I'd never so much as heard of. When my shiny new GPS arrived, I found the delightful Daniel inside. Daniel is from the UK, sounds like a cross between Sean Connery and Hugh Grant, and is far less bossy than old Leslie ever was. He's a pleasure to listen to, and makes mundane things like exit ramps vastly more interesting than they should be. (Only took me a week to figure out what a "slip road" was...)