Never thought I’d be a step junkie yet here we are...

No! Actually, here we are. No! Over HERE! *waves*

A couple of years ago at IdeaCity, which is very Ted Talksy, I heard a speaker who dismissed step counters as ridiculous and he was convincing and rugged and a photographer for National Geographic and so I also thought step counters were ridiculous. However. I googled them a couple of times. Fitbits mostly. Longingly mostly. And when my youngest thought she might like one for Christmas I googled and again dismissed them in favour of a four-season tent and being the practical shopper and person-in-general that I am, I bought the only one offered in yellow, her favourite colour, even though it shipped from Mars I think because it screeched into the driveway pm on the 24th, smoking.

When my older daughter got a fitbit I googled them again and they only seemed about half as ridiculous due to the sale

And then I was talking with a friend and he told me there was one built into my iphone which was a double surprise because I always thought that little red heart was because my phone loved me. In spite of it being an asshole.

So I started casually tracking my steps, and by casually, I mean obsessively

My daughter is currently engaged in a step-challenge and she texted me the results of her group and she was far and away at the top. Her comment was “I didn’t know I was so competitive”. Well, sweetheart, the apple didn’t fall far because guess what? I try to beat you every day.

I don’t know what Daisy’s been reading lately. Maybe Old Yeller because when I let her off curbside for her annual vet visit, she got all tragic

She’s back now, all tuned-up but a little yelpy. I don’t know if it’s just me but she seems grateful, excessively devoted and way less farty than usual. She is like Daisy Buchanan all of a sudden, batting her eyelashes and totally in love with me.

P-p-p-paralyzed with happiness (or maybe it’s the gas)

I don’t know, but she’s the dog of my life, so I’m glad the vet didn’t say anything about all the old dog lumps and warty things that I keep telling her build character.

It’s morning again and I just got back from a walk without Daisy because the vet said she should relax for a couple of days. She watched me from the window like wtf? and now that I’m back she’s aloofer than usual and I’m watching where I step because she’s been known to revenge-poo. Anyway, instead of the usual trail I take in the mornings with Daisy, this time I went down the big hill to the lake and it was amazing and I walked along the shore forever and then back which felt good on my ankles and then I walked the other way forever, etc., back up the hill and when I got home I whipped into the washroom to pee, and afterwards I looked at myself in the mirror and I gotta tell you, I looked pretty good.

Relatively speaking that is. I just looked better all over, you know, especially without my glasses. I didn’t know I could look hot almost – which is a real fucking stretch – because usually I am tepid at best

I think it was all about the contrast, you know? My eyes were really blue against my pinker skin and I liked my hair, all awry, and I actually had eyebrows which have been invisible since I haven’t had them pimped. But there they were. And then I took a closer look and they were fucking dead fucking gnats.

My untended eyebrows had acted like a sort of gnat gnet. And then I noticed there were a few more of the fuckers spread eagle on my forehead

Daisy just laughed and laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it builds character.”