Going Off-Track

By Toni M. Roucka

“Steps don’t count if you don’t log them in,” Fanny will say. She’s inseparable from her Fitbit. I forget mine most days, so my gouty feet get little credit.

Fanny sports a snow-white pixie, like a shock-resistant helmet. My smokey frizz is fierce. She’ll insist I see her hairdresser. “Shirley can fix you.”

Fanny picks Rosebud’s for lunch, where her Fitbit steps will glow crimson against white linen. She will order an egg-white omelet. I usually order grilled cheese. Today, though, I’m ordering lobster bisque into which my Fitbit will ‘accidentally’ plunge before she asks, “What’s your step count today, Pearl?”