My husband is in love with another woman. Her name is Esmerelda.

I named her.

Esmerelda is a GPS (Global Positioning System) Bill bought from www.refurbished. com.

I wasn’t convinced we needed yet another electronic gadget, but Bill explained that in his new job he travels to metal scrapyards to sell high-tech security systems.

Those are generally located in the dicey parts of towns, where there’s no way you want to stop and ask for directions.

I remember the disastrous time I was running out of gas on the way to Chicago and had already passed the last safe exit, Merrillville. I had to stop in dreaded Gary. Apparently, it is a depressed enough city that there are no gas stations by the interstate. I ended up asking a prostitute where the nearest one was (about three miles through the ghetto) and was hit on by a panhandler at the pump. These are the kinds of situations our new friend can help us avoid.

Using satellites and magic, Esmerelda tells us exactly how to drive from point A to point B. If we have an address, Essie can get us there. She can even guess how long it will take. Once there, this wonder can recommend nearby restaurants, hotels and shops. She’s our car concierge!

Esmerelda has a sultry voice that is calming when we miss an instruction and have that lost feeling. “If you are able to, please make a U-turn,” she will gently suggest.

Prior to acquiring her, I was always the navigator, using trusty maps and, more recently, mapquest directions. Bill much prefers Esmerelda’s neutral commands to my sometimes barking, frantic ones.

Essie is seldom wrong, although once she told me to turn left when she meant right. Another time she told Bill to drive into a pond, but common sense prevailed.

Alas, Esmerelda died recently on a trip to Indianapolis. I believe I may have seen a tear in the corner of Bill’s eye. We had to actually pull out our tattered, much used map.

I’m just glad she didn’t die on my watch. Bill would have accused me of killing her because I was a bit jealous of how fond he was of her.

It didn’t take him long to find a shiny, new replacement. He asked me to name her since I thought of such a memorable one the first time.

“What about Essie II?” He wasn’t sold.

But at a dinner last Friday at a Ruby Tuesday in Illinois, I happened upon the perfect name. Our server, a beautiful, blue-eyed sweet young thing, was named Darcelina. She said she’s always called that. Only her inner circle get to say “Darcy” or “Darce.”