Treadmill, Sweet Treadmill

So I have a treadmill now. The personable and entertaining person came and dropped it off this evening. Alas, we were two helpless women in the middle of a community full of retirees,* so the treadmill didn't make it down the stairs. I'm only mildly put out, though, because this means that it lives upstairs, where my Tivo is a working, happy Tivo. If it were downstairs, it would be in the workout room with the unhappy Tivo, which sulks all day and only watches CBS (it's geriatric, and its channel-changing ability is compromised--I keep telling it that CBS no longer shows Murder She Wrote, and that it should try watching other channels, but it likes Criminal Minds). So from a health perspective, this is probably ideal, because it means I can walk on the treadmill and watch all the programs I'm addicted to, rather than watching them while sitting lazily (albeit fetchingly) on my ass.

And, a bonus. While the personable and entertaining woman was trying to single-handedly load the treadmill into her RAV4 (did I say she was intelligent? well, I stand by that, but she may be ergonomically challenged), she broke a nonessential piece off the treadmill, so she charged me even less for it. I tried to give her the full price, since the treadmill is already a pretty hefty piece of exercise equipment for the original price and is still fully functional, but she dropped it by a full third. This means that I am fabulously wealthy, which in turn means that I can go get dinner.


*The one studly guy in my complex, the one I always see walking his adorable golden retriever, was nowhere to be found. There is never a studly guy around when you need one, or at least, that's been my experience.