You exist to make me feel awful. Was the sun overshadowed by evil forces when I decided to strap you on today?
I was hopeful today, you awful piece of junk. And hope is fragile. But what would you know?
You inform me that I have walked 500 steps today. 500? You must be broken.
Oprah needs me to do 10,000. We have a pact, you heartless device.
I knew those extended tea breaks would kill the game. That and the blogging.
How will my world continue to spin on its axis if I’ve disappointed Oprah?
Answer that, pedometer. Measure my heartache.