My phone tracks my steps. Which is supposedly a nice little program. Except I rarely actually carry my phone on me.
So, now, I have these arguments with my phone —
“Two hundred and fourteen steps? No, you took 214 steps. I spent eight hours cleaning and organizing the basement. You spent eight hours on the ping pong table. And you kept dinging at me that you were dying. Dying!! On a ping pong table! I was the one trying to drag a three wheeler with four flat tires!”
Inevitably, Younger ends up eying me with concern. “You okay, Mom?”
My phone is a liar.
But I’m fine.
Two hundred and fourteen steps?