A word to the wise

If you are suddenly struck by the idea that purchasing a treadmill for your home is a good idea, don't. Because then it's there, sitting in your bedroom, overtaking your entire bedroom and staring at you with malignant LED eyes, mocking you because you have to clambor atop it and do something that vaguely resembles a very drunk Yogi Bear stumbling in the woods after BooBoo. (I'm not sure who BooBoo is in this scenario, but let's just focus on the fact that I'm the drunk Yogi.) Then you'll think about how just 6 months earlier you'd run your 3 miles at the gym every day, no problem, and then you'll get sad because now you live in Dallas and don't work out with Michael Jordan any more, and all your friends are very, very far away and the restaurants in Dallas are nowhere near as good as D.C.

Then you will realize that you're being a pissy bitch and you need to get over yourself and fix the goddamn tilapia for dinner.

So don't buy the treadmill. Ok?