I fought with my Fitbit last night.
It refuses to count my sleepwalking as "walking".
That's not walking, it's cheating – it said.
You're a dumb app and I'm in charge of you – I said.
If I'm so dumb, how come I can track every crappy step you take? – it asked.
Because you're programmed to. You're not a fitness instructor and you're not Dr. Oz. You're a counter. You're a stopwatch with a few extra IQ points. Shut up and start counting – I pleaded.
You're asking me to lie. Oh sure, you'd call it a fib. Am I called a Fibbit? – it enquired.
Look, I'll buy you a brand new battery. And a slick case to sleep in. I'm competing with my wife here – I said.
Okay. Now bribery? Next you'll ask me to count your restless leg syndrome – it retorted.
Hey, that's a real condition I have. Let's not make this personal – I cried.
Every breath you take. Every move you make. Every bond your break. Every step you take. I'll be watching you – it sang, sarcastically.
I put it in the blender.
