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I was buzzing toward a book signing in the next county when I missed my turn.
Terry had been textracted with messages on her phone. She looked up, peered around and said, "Are you sure you want to go this way?"
I pulled my attention from the comedy routine on the radio, something about made-up words that ought to be in the dictionary.
"Of course I'm sure. I mapquestioned it before we left. I've gone this way lots of times."
"Anytime recently?"
"Well, no. Why?"
"Because I think you meant to take that turn five miles back."
I looked around. I saw familiar landmarks. But not for the town we were heading toward.
My sweet wife was right. It's an annoying habit of hers. She's sort of aggravexcellent that way.
"It's your carcolepsy acting up again," she said.
"My what?"
"You know, when your brain goes to sleep as soon as the car starts moving."
I muttered some unhelpful things while searching road signs for a route that would get us back on course to the book signing. The books were novels I wrote, so I was the guy who was supposed to show up to do the signing.
"I'm going to be late to my own show," I moaned. "It's going to turn into an ghost author signing."
"I should have said something sooner," Terry said.
"That's why we're in this mess," I snapped. "You know I can't drive without a nagivator."
"I think you mean 'navigator.'"
"No. I need a nag-ivator. If you'd been nagging me about the route, I wouldn't have missed the turn."
Terry gave me kudos for coining the word "nagivator." She gave me something else for coining it on her.
I must point out that Terry does not nag. Absolutely not. She doesn't believe in it and she never, ever nags me. Oh, she might make a suggestion or two or 37 or so until I pay attention. But, as usual, I was husbandblivious. It makes me erroritical, I mean, mistakenly critical, of her aid.
Before we slipped into an uncomfortable nonversation, the next exit sent us along our way and we still made it to the bookstore with 20 minutes to spare.
While I scribbled autogreetings in my novels for customers, a few friends regaled us with stunts they had pulled. "Like I texstated you before, when there are hi-jinks, people know we are the shenanigators."
"The what?"
"Instigators of the shenanigans," Shenanigator Sue said.
"Oh, so that wasn't a typo in your email," I said. "I thought you were just unkeyboardinated."
"Say, where did Ruth go?"
"She's over there in the corner, checking her Facebook, Twitter and texts as if we weren't even here."
"Yep, she's cellfish."
On the way home -- taking the correct turn this time -- I said, "This has been a weird day, one oddservation after another."
"Yep," Terry said. "Acres and acres of lexicorn."
"Of what?"
"Lexicorn -- silly words not in the dictionary."
I nodded. "Acres and acres and headachers."
— Add your weird words to Cole's lexicorn at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.