The Sweet Caress of Cyberspace
For a while I worried that my father was having a thing with his GPS.
He seldom referred to the navigational instrument, which issued instructions in a feminine monotone, as "it." He said "she" and "her." He got a kick out of predicting exactly when she'd pipe up and what her advice would be, and he alternately complimented himself on his obedience and crowed over his defiance.