Another birthday has come and gone and, thanks to an odd little gift from my kids, the front seat of my car seems to have just gotten a little smaller.

This gift means there's a new woman in my life, she thinks she's always right, and her name is TomTom.

Supposedly, I'll never be lost again.

TomTom is an on board navigational system that will map routes, estimate travel time and, for all I know, warm my morning coffee. TomTom comes with the requisite user manual - and it's thick enough to be daunting. I'll not be surprised if it contains a pre-nuptial agreement. You see, Tom Tom is an assertive kind of gal.

First, like a mother-in-law defending her turf, TomTom wants to be up in front and would prefer to be between my wife and me. Position is everything, especially if you are connected to a satellite overhead.

And as a little aside, I would have given just about anything to be a bug on the wall when the makers of TomTom debated whether the command voice was to be that of a woman or a man. Let's see, a gender confusing name and a woman in charge voice, what an interesting combination. It makes for an even more interesting companion.

So first off, when placed in the car, TomTom establishes her turf. She simply won't give you any assistance unless she is front and center. Call that, one for TomTom.

Second, I have not found the volume control, and I'm thinking maybe there isn't one. TomTom is kind of a loud gal and so far she is clearly dominating the conversation. Yes, I talk to TomTom and, yes, we've had our first disagreement. Several actually.

TomTom is not the kind of gal you want to argue with. I've tried. Our first argument was over a simple thing really. We were headed to Michigan for the afternoon and I was about to get on the expressway, per her directions. Just as I was about to pull on the entry ramp I spotted a convenience store on the other side of the viaduct. I was hungry for a treat and I though a Twinkie and a diet pop might be just what I needed.

I ignored TomTom's advice and proceeded past the entrance ramp and over to the convenience store. Here's where I probably should stop and read the user manual. For all I know TomTom knows my weight and has calculated that pesky BMI- body mass index. Ok, so I guess it's no secret I should ease up on the Twinkies. Let's not give TomTom much credit for noting the obvious. And if it turns out she comes with a weight detector in the driver's seat, well I just don't think that's fair.

Anyway, back behind the wheel with my Twinkies and soda, TomTom punished me like a pouting child and made me do all kinds of maneuvers before allowing me to get back on the expressway. Directions with an attitude - well don't you say. And she does say!

My wife and I are mostly good to go with each other's driving habits. The exception would be my tendency to put off lane changes until they become critical.

While cruising along to Michigan my wife tactfully noted what was about to be the obvious:

"The lane is ending, you better merge over," she said.

As if by cue, and without giving me time to respond to my wife's suggestion, Tom- Tom barked:

"MOVE OVER."

The vote was 2 to 1, and trust me, I moved over.

On a kind of twisted note, I now see a bright spot to really dark, overcast days. You see, Miss Know-It-All depends on a connection to her higher power to speak with such authority.

What's that, TomTom? I can't hear you. Cloud got your tongue?