Category Archives: When I said you were average I was being mean

The Studio Audience

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Happy New Year! As I write this, on my desk are two brightly-coloured paper hat, two Hawaiian leis, and two noisemakers that the boys brought home from an early New Year’s Eve party. Picture loud, family-friendly dance music and what appeared to be several thousand – although it was probably only twenty – children all blowing into noisemakers. When we left my husband said that he suddenly had a headache, which, no kidding. But a good time was had by all, and meanwhile, I was asleep by 11:15.

I know we are all supposed to loathe January, with its cold and dark – although, less dark than December – but these first few days of the month, I love. I love the feeling of new beginnings, although September always feels much more like a new beginning to me. January resolutions tend to be continuations of September resolutions, which is okay by me. I have the usual health and fitness resolutions – no specific goals, but a continuation along my path – and also such goals as “read more,” “buy less stuff,” “less social media,” “pay attention,” and “notice the moment.”

One of the reasons that I think many people are anti-resolution is that their resolutions are much too specific or too overwhelming. Small steps add up, people! There’s no need to go cold-turkey on everything you love, but maybe, just maybe, add a few small things that will improve your health and welfare. That’s my take on it, anyway. If there are ways that can make me a better person, why wouldn’t I try them? Resolving to be kinder, more aware, and to give the people I love more of me.

I also have a resolution just to make that damn dentist appointment already. I loathe going to the dentist, I hate that it takes up a whole afternoon, I hate trying to fit it into my schedule, I hate having my teeth scraped while silently staring into that overhead light, and most of all, I hate hearing that I use the “wrong” kind of floss. I FLOSS EVERY DAY AND I WILL NOT USE THE NON-DENTAL-TAPE-FLOSS, YOU CANNOT MAKE ME. I also am trying not to feel overwhelmed with a) my younger son getting braces this month and all the related appointments that go with it, b) parent meetings for my older son’s absolutely insane winter camping trip, c) HIGH SCHOOL PARENT ORIENTATION NIGHT, HOW DID WE GET HERE, LANDSLIDE, d) everything else that happens in a normal month. When can I fit my slightly-overdue dental appointment in? Maybe I should wait until February.

Today is my first day back at work since December 21, and it has been so lovely having this break with my husband and kids. Our house has been so relaxed, we’ve all caught up on sleep, and all those little jobs around the house have gotten done. My husband and older son took down all the outdoor lights and decorations, and our front yard now looks extremely desolate. Between Christmas and Halloween, it’s been a while since we have had an empty yard. Not to mention that in the right season, my garden adds some lovely cheer to the front of the house, but now, thanks to Chinooks melting snow, it’s just a mix of brown grass, dead plants, and dirty snow.

Well, I’m not going to complain. The weather has been very mild for January, so I’d rather have melted, dirty snow than what January usually has in store for us. The kids have been using the trampoline, which really says something. I brought groceries in without wearing gloves, which says more.

Oh, I’ve enjoyed this break so much, I don’t want to let go. Before the break an equally-burned-out friend of mine (HI JAN) said, “I just want to drink coffee and watch a movie” and I totally related to that. My entire goal this break has been to get up and drink coffee in my pajamas for hours, which I have done every day. What a treat! No rush to go anywhere or do anything. It’s a beautiful thing.

Eat your heart out, Jan, we also watched a movie yesterday, Spiderman: Homecoming, which was pretty good and I only fell asleep a couple of times. That’s a big win for me; I think I deal with onscreen action/ conflict by falling asleep. Also, it really challenged my perception of Aunt May; Marisa Tomei looks great, but I really disagree with those pants.

We have also been watching the occasional morning game show, such as Price is Right and Let’s Make a Deal. I tried to explain the Monty Hall statistical problem to the kids but it turns out there are no longer goats involved in the new Let’s Make a Deal, or a second door being opened, so the statistics don’t work anymore. The Price is Right, though. That show hasn’t changed and it’s still as exciting as ever when the little mountain climber comes on or they announce that Plinko is the next game or that the next prize is a NEW CAR. We even saw one guy get $1 on the big wheel and then he went on to win a sweet Showcase Showdown, and we were all screaming with happiness like we were actually in the studio audience. Wouldn’t it be nice to cheer on other people as they just go through life, like we were in a studio audience? Being happy for others as they succeed, sharing in their disappointment with empathy when they do not. Life goal: to be in the studio audience.

This winter has frozen my brain

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Do You Want To Build A Snowman

No, not really. It’s been the snowiest – or one of the snowiest? I don’t really know – winters on record, and frankly, I am at the point where I cannot even conceptualize a time where I won’t be wearing numerous layers and a coat that requires its own postal code. I cannot remember what the yard looked like without giant drifts of snow, and I am starting to forget what it was like to drive down the street. I refuse to drive down the our street due to the enormous snow banks and ruts – if a car comes in the other direction, one of the cars must somehow get somehow onto a snow bank in order for the other to pass. It feels like a recipe for disaster, and as we all know, automobile-related disasters can only end in dramatic tears and frantic phone calls to my husband who, inevitably, will be at work and unable to help. I shall not drive down my street until such time as I do not need a four wheel drive and/ or nerves of steel. I was looking at my closet yesterday and noticed all the footwear that is lying dormant. I know there was a time when I wore light shoes and even light boots, but I cannot really remember it. I’ve lost all perspective – haven’t I just always worn heavy boots every single day? The local meteorologists insist that the melt is coming, but frankly, I can’t imagine it. I feel like I’m in a much less-gory and not-at-all-incestuous Game of Thrones winter, which is destined to last until we all die from lack of food/ murder/ being killed by White Walkers.

I’d Rage Against The Machine But I’m Too Tired

I realized with a start that time change is THIS WEEKEND. Goddamn Daylight Savings and all the lies associated with it. The Alberta government – not for the first time, and certainly not for the last – was the cause of grave disappointment when they announced that they would not do away with the time change, because “everyone else is doing it.” I feel like my own mother, if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do it too? Are we all lemmings here? If EVERYONE thinks that time change is an antiquated concept, and that it really does nothing for energy savings, and that it is inconvenient and the cause of many car accidents and issues due to pure exhaustion, then why doesn’t EVERYONE band together and just agree to do away with it? Every single year I think this and I am sure that given that this ridiculousness has lasted this long, I will be in the Home saying the same exact thing.

Awkward Is As Awkward Does

This week I had my annual physical, and my doctor’s office was very accommodating when I mentioned I was a little tight on time. I got there a few minutes early and the nurse promptly weighed and measured me, and took my heart rate and blood pressure. I was quickly escorted to the room where I was asked to change into the robe. I glanced at the enormous robe, momentarily forgetting which way to put it on. Does it tie in the back or the front? At that exact moment, while I was standing in the freezing room, completely nude, the doctor knocked and started to open the door – thinking, probably, that he was helping me out by not making me sit idly in the freezing room, but instead starting the checkup right away. I appreciated his promptness but, as I said, I was standing there naked, so I asked for just a moment, please. Does it tie in the front or the back? I remembered from my mammogram a few years back – when I made the wrong choice – that that gown tied in the front. Were we doing a breast exam today? Maybe? Front or back, front or back, just make a decision. I quickly pulled it on and tied it in the front just as the doctor knocked again and walked in. It was immediately apparent that I had, gravely, made the wrong decision. The doctor looked at me quizzically as I awkwardly said I couldn’t remember which way to put the gown on. “Well,” he said tactfully, “Usually it’s the other way.” USUALLY. Like there are other women out there desperately holding the gown together at the front, showcasing their complete lack of medical gown intuition. There were a few awkward moments when the doctor was testing my reflexes and listening with his stethoscope. Wardrobe malfunction! I am not generally a shy person and the doctor has seen it all before, but still, there is something unsettling about unexpectedly flashing the doctor while just sitting on the examining table as he asks questions about general energy levels and if I’m still getting my periods.

That’s One Way To Get More Business

With all the snow, and the usual thawing and refreezing cycle, sidewalks and parking lots have been absolutely treacherous. A few months ago I came across an elderly woman who had just fallen and, subsequently, broken her arm while walking on the sidewalk. She was just sitting there on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. If you can make it down the sidewalks without such calamity, you need the agility of a mountain goat to climb over the huge snowbanks surrounding them. Walking the dog is becoming an adventure, is what I’m saying. The other day I saw a man slip and nearly bail right in front of a chiropractic/ physio clinic. Sheer ice…right in front of the clinic.

All The Ladies In The House Say HEY

Happy International Women’s Day! I may not still have my posters of the Feminist Manifesto and the fish on a bicycle, but the principles are still there (automobile-related incidents notwithstanding.) Keep on keeping on, you beautiful women. Let’s continue to lift each other up and support one another. xoxo

Penne for Pi Day

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Happy Pi Day everyone! This year the grade sevens were really learning a lot about pi, and calculating circle area, and discussing how pi is actually calculated and how for every circle – every one! – pi is equal to the circumference divided by the diameter, every time, and isn’t that amazing? It is amazing. My grade seven student was pretty into it so I must say the apple did not fall far from the tree in this case. I don’t mean to brag, but I was known in certain circles as the Conics Goddess when I was in Grade Twelve, because of my conics calculating skills, I casually mentioned to my husband, who responded by saying that was the nerdiest thing he had ever heard in his life. But it’s true! I swear!

Anyway, I’m not making a pie for Pi Day because it’s Tuesday, and who has the time? Also, we are having penne, which is a cylinder of sorts, so that’s how I’m going to celebrate. Penne for Pi Day! It could be a new trend.

I am in a fabulous mood today; the hideous weather finally broke and everything is gloriously melty. Even wiping up Barkley’s constant muddy paw prints cannot bring me down from this cloud. I went to move the garbage bin back to its usual spot today – my life is extremely glamourous – and I noticed tiny green shoots where the yarrow grows wild. Tiny green shoots! What could be more heart-warming than that?

I also got a good, heart-warming laugh out of these pants that my friend Julie (HI JULIE) had posted on Facebook this morning. Although I must add that THIS IS NOT A JOKE, PEOPLE. These pants are available at Nordstrom and are called, hilariously, “Topshop Clear Knee Mom Jeans.” Since when are we using Mom Jeans as advertising? Also, not one mom I know actually wears Mom Jeans, so I’m wondering if this is a new trend with the youth of today, although I can hardly imagine that it is. Guys, let’s wear the least flattering pants ever! Oh, know what would be better than cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans? Cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans with plastic panels in the knees. It’s like ripped jeans, but waterproof if we kneel down in a puddle somewhere.

What do I know, though? Maybe it is a trend with Young People These Days; I am certainly not one of them so I can’t say. I certainly had my own share of unflattering pants back in the day, when everything was high-waisted, belted, and tucked-in. Hugely baggy jeans that were tightly rolled or pinned at the ankles was the big trend when I was in junior high. In fact, everything about junior high was terribly unflattering. It’s almost like someone said Let’s make a style that will cause everyone to look back on it and cringe. Okay, those jeans, giant tucked-in t-shirts, and while we are at it, let’s get all the girls to spiral perm their hair and tease the bangs into free-standing walls. Yes, that should do it. No wait, wait. Let’s add a crimping iron to the mix.

I mean…

You guys, I just realized that those Clear Knee Mom Jeans are $133! That is USD, my friends. That is nearly one hundred and eighty dollars in Canadian funds. Plus shipping! Who is exactly the market, here?

Well, there’s no accounting for taste, as they say. Judge not, says she who had a giant sweatshirt with Garfield’s Zodiac on the front, and wore it often. Judge not.

Fifteen minutes of fame or writing or something.

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Last week was pretty hectic, so I was looking forward to a fairly open week in which I could get a lot of writing done and, in general, relax a bit. Unfortunately, I did not actually look at my calendar in that burst of optimistic feeling, and I am having an OMG it’s Wednesday already and OMG it’s March 8 already and OMG my life is flying by.

For one thing, I forgot that I had signed up to volunteer for a field trip to the Spaceport yesterday. The field trip itself was just fine; not the best field trip ever – that title still goes to the one to the Police Interpretive Centre – but certainly not the worst either. There were lots of fun and interesting activities for the kids and my Nerd might have been showing as I got pretty into the air compression station, when it was my turn to man the equipment.

There was also a very cool inflatable dome that the kids got to lie down in to look at the various stars and constellations, and it is pretty clear that the entire class is much more knowledgeable in this area than I am.

My favourite part by far was footage with Commander Hadfield and crew, snacking on bananas and M&M’s in space. You had me at Commander Hadfield.

One of the presentations included a very detailed demonstration – using a dummy with the creepiest face you’ve ever seen, seriously, this is nightmare stuff – about how astronauts use the toilet. Clearly the people who design the program have their fingers on the pulse of what interests students in this age group.

This morning, despite minus 15 degree temperatures and fresh snow, I decided that I needed to go to Costco. There was literally no other time this week that I could do it; as we all know, Costco is a time-suck of epic proportions. There is the driving, and the loading and unloading of the giant groceries, and the putting away of said groceries. However, I must note that luck was on my side today as I not only got an excellent parking spot, meaning that pushing the heavy cart through snow was only a moderate workout, rather than a “I may die here today” one. Also – and this has never happened before, so it is noteworthy – as I was in line, a NEW CHECKOUT OPENED UP AND THEY CHOSE ME TO BE THE FIRST IN LINE. I felt like a celebrity, getting into the hottest new club in town with nary an issue.

As I mentioned, I started watching Jane the Virgin a few weeks ago, but have not watched any since that time. Instead, I have been reading. I know that makes me sound like one of those douchey people who think television is much too pedestrian for their tastes, but here’s the thing: I put a ton of books on hold at the library, and they all seem to be coming in at once. I can’t keep up. I take back a book only to pick up three more, and now I feel like I’m in some kind of one-step-forward-two-steps-back world. Since I was in the queue for a lot of those books, I can’t renew them either, so I’m in a strange spot of frantically reading. It reminds me of my pre-social-media youth, which is a very good thing.

To Kill A Mockingbird has been one of my favourite books since the moment I read it at age 23. I’ve read it so many times I’ve lost count, and some of my very favourite lines ever written are in that book.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that the character of Dill was based on Harper Lee’s childhood friend, Truman Capote. I know what you’re thinking, and that is that everyone knows that. Everyone but me! This was completely new information for me, and although I’ve read a lot of his writing, I never connected the dots. It makes so much sense! Dill sounds exactly like what Capote would have been like as a child! I can’t get over it.

The only reason I even know this is because it was in one of the books I read, The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which is a dishy, delicious read. I highly recommend it and as you read it, be sure to google photos of the real people in the book. It is well worthwhile.

I also, after having it on hold since last June, and having it come up when I was on vacation in November, and then having to put it on hold again, finally read The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck. I will say this – after all that, I did not really enjoy the book. I mean, I liked the premise. I like not giving a fuck about things that aren’t worth giving a fuck about. But I did not like the book itself. Maybe it was the way it was written, I just don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but I am DEFINITELY in the minority here.

Well, I just challenged myself to write a post in the 15 minute window I had, and on that note, I must close and finish all the other (more pressing, but what can I say, I like blogging) things on my to-do list today. Have a great day, everyone, and I hope you are well. xo

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl

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This morning I heard Copacabana on the way home from yoga, and it set the tone for my whole day. I have been doing the merengue and the cha-cha all day, humming about yellow feathers in my hair and a dress cut down to there. At least I know all the words to Copacabana, which makes it a little less crazy, unlike the time I had Fancy by Bobby Gentry stuck in my head. I only really knew the words Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down so I basically had that on repeat for a few days. I would much rather sing about the hottest spot north of Havana.

My friend and I were walking our dogs and talking about the vast amount of food our sons consume each week. We joked that food preparation, in a house with pre-teen and teenage boys, is the equivalent of a part-time job. Since I have the irritating personality trait of needing to empirically quantify any such claim, I actually started noting down how much time I actually do spend grocery shopping, planning and preparing meals, baking, doing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. The number of hours I spend doing those things per week was actually astonishing and I wish I hadn’t had the urge to do the math.

For one thing, I realize that this job is just going to get bigger and bigger for several years, and then, when the boys leave home, it is going to be gone, completely GONE, and I am going to be left in my empty kitchen, singing Landslide softly to myself while wondering what to do with all these cookies.

That, right there, is the reason I cannot wish away time, even if every single Tuesday I think to myself What? It’s only Tuesday? I don’t want to wish my life away. It’s already the end of January and life often feels like it’s a cartoon of pages flying off the calendar.

Anyway, with all the awful, terrifying, and disheartening things happening in the world, I am choosing to focus on my own backyard. There are lots of opportunities to make the world a better place, and as I said to my neighbour the other day, efforts that seem small in the grand scheme of things are actually not small at all to the people being helped. It’s a good reminder.

I am also focusing a bit on my literal backyard, because this happened:

 

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We have a huge backyard and when the kids were small they would spend hours out there, playing with Barkley and shooting water guns and running around. They are past that stage now, and I convinced my husband that a trampoline would be the cure for all that ails us.

tramapoline

It arrived in pieces on Friday and my husband and I spent four hours on Saturday putting it together. FOUR HOURS. It was well worth it though, since it has been fairly mild for the past couple of weeks. We’ve all enjoyed it so much already and I’m looking forward to summer, when our house can become the neighbourhood hangout. I’m sure my kitchen time will increase substantially with a group of teen boys in my backyard, but it will be well worth it.

Be well, friends. xo

Spoiled children and first seven jobs

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In my last post, I promised a photo of me looking disapproving at the amusement park, and today was supposed to be that day. Except that the sky is grey, again, and threatening to thunderstorm, AGAIN, and so I am just looking disapproving in my kitchen:

disapproval

The thought of packing up snacks, bug spray, and the children, and then driving twenty-five minutes, only to get rained on or electrocuted is disheartening to say the least, and so it looks like another somewhat indoorsy day.

I read a piece in the New Yorker called Spoiled Rotten, in which an anthropologist studied families in Los Angeles and in an Amazonian tribe, to see the difference in the role children played in the family structure. Predictably, the children in LA were complete spoiled brats who refused to tie their own shoes or fetch their own silverware from the drawer, whereas the Amazonian children were significantly contributing to the household, and society in general. In the natural order of things, of course, the LA children turn into thirtysomethings whose moms are still doing their laundry while they make YouTube videos in the basement, and the Amazonian children turn into functioning adults who go out in the world to seek their fortune, just like fairy tale heroes of yore.

It really made me think, being that it was a think-piece and all. Of course, for narrative purposes, the author would have chosen to write about the absolutely worst LA children and the most self-sufficient Amazonian tribe in order to get the starkest contrasts. However. It had me wondering if my kids could be doing more, if I expect too little of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel like I expect a lot. I expect excellent behaviour wherever we go. I expect them to get good grades and work very hard year-long, including summer worksheets and writing projects. I expect them to look people in the eye when they are speaking, to shake hands when meeting someone for the first time – and to put some meat into those handshakes, no dead fish hands please – I expect them to introduce themselves and say “Nice to meet you.” I expect them to make their beds, put away laundry, help with yard work and household chores, set the table, clear the table, load the dishwasher, and feed the dog. They often help chop vegetables and they help my husband put up and take down exterior decorations for Christmas and Halloween, Jake knows how to change a tire and jack up the car and Mark helps with the pre-winter maintenance of the air conditioner and shovels the sidewalk.

So they aren’t like the LA kids in the essay, and – PLEASE GOD – they won’t be living in my basement in 20 years. But there are a lot of things that I knew how to do at their age that they don’t. For example, I used to babysit a lot, and I would cook lunch for my little charges all the time, mostly Kraft Dinner or Zoodles, but I knew how to do it. Only yesterday did I show the boys how to turn on the stove. They have never cleaned a bathroom and their ability to sweep the floor leaves much to be desired. Also, much to be picked up by Roomba.

Speaking of Roomba, he continues to be the naughty little pet that we all love. We love his industry, and we laugh when he bumps into a side table and ends up with a piece of paper jauntily riding atop his little body. Roomba is wearing a hat! we say joyfully. A few times Roomba somehow got tangled up in the toilet paper, leading to a giant shredded mess all over the basement. Oh, Roomba! we shake our heads at his well-meaning but disastrous attempt. Just a few days ago, the boys ran upstairs in a state of excitement. Roomba, they said, had tried to eat the laces on my husband’s trainers, and had dragged the shoe all over the basement.

I feel like this could be the start of a very exciting reality show, or maybe even a sitcom. It would be at least as entertaining as any of the ones currently on air. The Adventures of Roomba! Roomba would surely be a contributing member of society, not like those spoiled children in LA.

Speaking of (semi) spoiled children, I must now send them to the Co-Op by themselves to buy a loaf of bread since we have, inexplicably, ran out. Never mind that we all were buying cigarettes for our parents at the corner store at age seven, and the six-year-old Amazonian children are catching and cleaning all the shellfish for the tribe to have for dinner, I am PROUD that my children can go to the Co-Op by themselves, armed only with a fiver, my Co-Op number, and a reusable bag. And then – AND THEN – they can take that damn loaf of bread and make sandwiches from it for their lunches because I am raising my children to be competent adults, and also they don’t eat Zoodles or Kraft Dinner.

Oh! But I had forgotten what I had been actually planning to write this post about, and no, it wasn’t actually the New Yorker piece. What can I say, I digress easily. There has been a meme going around about Your First Seven Jobs and I thought it would be fun if you could play along too. What were yours? Here are mine:

  1. Babysitter (this should be obvious from the entire post)
  2. Page at the public library, where I shelved books and impressed the interviewers with my knowledge of the Dewey Decimal System and my volunteer work as a candy striper at a nursing home.
  3. Pizza Hut employee, where I did all jobs from bussing tables to answering phones to making pizza to being a cashier. It was a fun job in that I had a lot of friends there, but it was also a terrible job because people LOVE to scream at the teenage employees when their pizza does not arrive in a timely fashion.
  4. Salesgirl at a ladies’ clothing store, where I discovered I did not want to sell anything, ever again.
  5. Waitress at Moxies’ – another fun job where I also discovered that working in customer service is very hard. This job made me empathetic every single time I had a meal out that went awry for any reason.
  6. Beer sample girl. If you want a job where you get hit on by disgusting, much older alcoholics, and everyone treats you like a brainless idiot, this is the job for you! I finally quit in a fit of rage when the company got a contract with Busch, and I would have been required to wear a Busch bathing suit to hand out samples. In a freezing cold liquor store. NO THANK YOU, YOU MAY KEEP YOUR SEVEN DOLLARS AN HOUR.
  7. Summer student at a petroleum company. This was my first taste of corporate life, and I got to use my linear programming skills, so it was great. It ended up leading to my first “real” job that didn’t involve food, customer service, or bathing suits.

Please play along! What were your first seven jobs? All of these jobs took place within the span of a decade, which seems amazing for some reason.

All I do is win, win, win, no matter what.

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The sun has come out! The sun has come out! It was a wee bit too late to save our Sunday afternoon barbeque for fourteen people, but better late than never. On Sunday my husband and I looked at the sky with nervous hope; about twenty minutes before our guests arrived, the sky turned black, the wind turned icy, and the rain started pouring and didn’t stop. That was a bit disappointing but I shall repeat: the sun has come out!

The boys are at karate camp this week, so I’m extra glad for the sunny weather. I can’t imagine how miserable the camp would be if the weather had been what it was like last week. Mind you, last year there was one day that was twelve degrees and raining and they still went swimming at the heated outdoor pool so I guess the show must go on. Swimming isn’t happening this year, though, as was evident when we pulled into the parking lot and saw a giant digger and dump truck, and where the pool had been previously was merely a pile of rubble. There’s always next year! In any case, if yesterday is any indication, they will be having an EPIC week full of karate and water fights and obstacle courses.

I am austerely taking this opportunity to get a lot of work done. It’s amazing how much one can get done without having near-constant conversations about The Simpsons, Overwatch, and – alarmingly – Grand Theft Auto. Mom, there’s a guy on GTA who does yoga! Ah, yes, thanks for letting me know about the criminals and how they spend their time when they are not stealing cars or shooting people.

Grand Theft Auto is just one in a string of examples of things I never thought I would allow, but here we are. Although “allow” is probably the wrong word for it; it’s more like I was railroaded into this “decision.”

The other day I bought a pair of athletic socks, and this is actually a much bigger deal than it appears. I hate, hate, hate spending money on socks, for some reason, but I especially hate spending money on athletic socks. I don’t know why. I don’t know what my issue is but it probably would take a team of therapists to get things straight. In any case, I realized that the two pairs of athletic socks that I own are on their last legs (feet?). One pair I purchased for spin class, last attended in 2001, and the other pair I purchased for golf. My last golf game was somewhere in the first half of 2003.

I probably needed a new pair of socks, is what I’m trying to get at.

We all know my love of all things lululemon, and so I purchased a pair of socks from there. They are pink, to match my trainers, and they have all kinds of claims like “micro-cushioning” and “sweat-wicking” and plus did I mention they are pink? Anyway, they were a bit pricey but I figured that by the time I bought a new pair, somewhere in the vicinity of 2030, I would have gotten my money’s worth from them. Per-unit usage and cost-benefit analysis and all that. “Micro-cushioning” isn’t cheap, you know.

Anyway, I took the socks from the packaging and I was faced with one of lululemon’s signature inspirational sayings. Except that it was less inspirational, and more depressing. It said that women, on average, walk five kilometers more than men. FIVE KILOMETERS. I thought of all the women in the world, walking for hours to find clean water and whatnot, and I thought that was probably the least inspirational thing I could have read on my sock packaging. Because honestly? I’m not sure that Fitbit-wearing women in North America are walking five kilometers more than their male counterparts. I mean, I haven’t seen the data or anything, but that doesn’t seem credible, which makes the “on average” thing that much more depressing.

This is why I don’t have a Fitbit. Well, not exactly, it’s not because I would become depressed thinking about the plight of women in disadvantaged situations, although every time I think about it I do. The real reason I don’t have a Fitbit is because I would turn into David Sedaris. I have somewhat of a highly competitive nature and would probably spend my days trying to kill it on the Fitbit. All work, childcare, and sanity would go out the window as I would spend my days walking briskly to get more steps. This is the reason that my husband will no longer play Monopoly with me, and also the reason I secretly fumed at my sister-in-law’s brother for winning Shopkins Bingo at my niece’s birthday party. It’s bad enough that I have a step counter on my phone; if I had a Fitbit I’d probably railroad my husband into getting one too, and then see if I could walk five kilometers more than him on a daily basis. Actually, I’d probably make it six for good measure and to get back at him for the Grand Theft Auto thing.

Well, it’s better for my marriage, sanity, and everything else to not have a Fitbit, and meanwhile, I am enjoying my new socks very much. If I was walking an extra five (or six) kilometers a day, I’d probably have to spring for another pair, and that is just a bridge too far.