Those of you who know Stephen well would know that he is just a kid trapped inside a grownup's body, reminiscent of Tom Hanks in the movie Big (but not involving a midway genie who grants wishes though unplugged). Recently the man-child stood in line at midnight to await the arrival of the newly-released Nintendo Wii (that's pronounced wee), a video game system. My conquering hero brought his prize home, set it up, and was up waaaaay too late honing his skills.
Normally I would consider myself immune to the appeal (note the sarcasm) of such a toy, but the Wii is so interesting I thought I'd give it a whirl. One of the sports activities that came with the system is a fitness program, complete with an interpretation at the end of the daily routine, letting the user know his "fitness age." I thought, being pregnant and as active as a dead sloth, that this program would be good for me. On that first night I went through the rounds of tennis, home run derby, and bowling, only to discover that my Wii Fitness Age was 67.
I felt like I improved vastly over last night's pathetic showing. I got two home runs, got to level 15 in bowling, and did not completely miss every tennis ball fired at me. I anxiously awaited the system's judgment of my health, nearly equating it with actual medical opinion. :) Imagine my pleasure as the number 22 flashed up on the screen. Stephen, who had been my cheering section, was congratulating me when we both noticed that something was not quite right. My victory number had begun a descent to the bottom of the screen, only to be replaced by the far more evil number 37!!
I got "psyched" by a video game. Argh. I think we're gonna sell that stupid game system on Ebay... Buy me a treadmill or something....