Fitbit

I got a Fitbit™ for Father’s Day because I guess CVS was sold out of cards that just said, “Hey, Dad. You’re a fat ass load.”

I got her an electric screwdriver for Mother’s Day one year but it was what she’d asked for and, all-in-all, it was a pretty nice one. Were I to hope to make this a learning moment for you I might recommend that you entertain any such request from your spouse exclusively in written form.

The Fitbit™ tracks my sleep patterns and whips up a lovely Flash panel in the morning with graphs and numbers that are either too small for my eyes or just beyond my interest.

Last night it appears that I was restless fifteen times in the five hours that I slept. I also took nine steps.

It’s thirty-four steps to the crapper from a dead stop.

Nine steps gets me to the end of the bed and halfway back.

So technically I spent the remainder of the night on the floor or suspended mid-air.

This latter seems like something I would do if I could and it sucks to think that I slept through the whole thing.