I really am a good person.
Remember when Auntie C was visiting a few weeks ago? She had recently purchased an Apple Watch which she was very pleased with (and by “very pleased with” I mean adores silly).
“But,” she said to me. “Alas and alack,” she said. “Woe unto me,” she moaned, “I have a problem and know not what to do.”
“Dearie me, Auntie C,” I cried with alarm, “Tell me what is wrong and I will do anything in my power to right the travesty!”
Auntie C only hid her face in her hands. “I cannot,” she whispered.
“Be not afraid, Auntie,” said I, “Tell me what I can do.”
“It’s my Fitbit,” she said even more softly. “It’s alone, and in box. I’m so ashamed.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of!” I squeaked, “Enjoying kale—definitely shame worthy. But moving to a new technology means leaving the old behind.”
But it made no difference—her sorrow was palpable.
I couldn’t bear it. “Tell me, Auntie C,” I begged, “Tell me what I can do to lift this cloud from your shoulders.”
“Well,” she began, “No, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, yes, you can,” I assured her.
“No,” she said, flinging the back of her hand to her forehead, “It’s too much to ask.”
After a time (about 6 seconds), she relented. “Would it be too much—you can of course say no—would it be too much to ask you—no, no, I can’t—would it be too much to ask you to take my Fitbit?”
Time stood still as the enormity of her request floated across to me. Was I ready for this? Could I adopt someone else’s Fitbit? Would I feel the same as I’d felt about my own?
Without pausing consider the matter too deeply I burst out, “Of course, of course! For you, anything. I will take your cast off Fitbit and treat it as my very own.”
Which is how I find myself wearing (wait for it) a PURPLE Fitbit. It is adorable. It is a charming. It sits on my wrist like it belongs there (because it does belong there). I figured out how to sync it with my phone without any help from the under-30 set.
I am so happy.
And I did a good deed.