Santa Claus left a Wii Fit under the tree for Christmas, and for the past few weeks, I've been walking by and snickering at my husband doing yoga and assorted goofy aeorbics exercises like hula-hooping. I can do that, that's easy, I'd think as I watched, taking a bite of a peppermint Joe-Joe.
Um, no, I can't.
Apparently, along with everything else the Wii can do — determine your weight, BMI, whether or not you changed your underwear — it can read your thoughts and knows if you are mocking it. Wii got me back today.
It audibly gasped when I stepped on the balance board. I don't know which is worse — that my Wii Fit age is 50 or that my Mii character has such bad hair. The kids made Mii characters for everyone they know and everyone they don't (honestly — Harry Potter characters; Barack Obama is there and so is, weirdly, actress Famke Janssen). Anyway, my hair really sucks. I need to fix that.
First, Wii mocked my balancing abilities, saying that it "wasn't my forte" and asking if I trip a lot.
You know, if you ask me, that trainer didn't exactly look so fit — she was ghostly pale and she had a little junk in the trunk, too. So she should just shut up.
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