Actually, she sort of ran away.
Nah, she pretty much power-walked at a full clip. And I totally started it –
or so she said.
We were making our way through one
of those giant big-box mega-discount department stores. We had walked up and
down multiple aisles, picking up essentials and scratching them off the
shopping list.
And then it happened. My Fitbit
activity tracker went off, informing me that I had met that day’s step goal.
“Brrrip. Brrrip.” The thing
vibrated on my wrist. And Mom noticed. I saw her glance at the similar device
on her own wrist and frown.
There it was. The proverbial
gauntlet fell to the ground. And Mom picked it up and ran with it, so to speak.
“Why don’t you take the cart and
get in the checkout line, while I take a few spins ‘round the store?” my mom
chirped. “My Fitbit didn’t go off yet.”
Did I mention my mom is in her
mid-80’s?
I wheeled the shopping cart into
one of the cashier lines. Several minutes ticked by, with no sign of Mom. So I
did what any reasonable, mature adult daughter would do. I texted my teen at home.
“I think I’ve lost Grandma,” I typed. “She’s clockin’ some more miles in the grocery store to set off her Fitbit.”
“I think I’ve lost Grandma,” I typed. “She’s clockin’ some more miles in the grocery store to set off her Fitbit.”
I half-expected to hear a store-wide public service announcement:
“Speed-up on aisle four.”
Just then, my cell phone rang. It was my teen.
"Where's Grandma?"
Just then, my cell phone rang. It was my teen.
"Where's Grandma?"
Maybe I should mention that Mom did
turn up a few minutes later, still frowning and claiming that her Fitbit must
be broken.
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