Yesterday we got a new treadmill. You can turn it on, and it makes a grinding noise, and the display lights up with lots of different pretty red lights, and sometimes it'll beep at you, but the actual "treading along in a mill-type motion" thing doesn't really happen so much.

Today we called the manufacturer and they informed us that it was probably a "short" in the Emergency Oh My God You Fell Off Let Me Just Stop Moving Now button. They're sending a "technician" out to fix it next week, but to correct it for now, we had to put some electrical tape over the button. Which means that it won't suddenly turn off if one of us falls off while treading.

Which means that I've completely spun a theory in my head about brand new out-of-the-box home gym equipment suddenly gaining self-aware intelligence and plotting to kill whatever poor fat soul purchased it. I fully expect to get on this thing later tonight and be thrown backwards into the couch in its attempt to take over the living room. And since I'm a complete doormat, I will let the treadmill conquer the first floor of the house if it means I don't have to hurtle the coffee table every time I want to sweat for fun.

If Stephen King is reading this, don't even think about doing Christine 2: The Treadenning. I have to have something to work on for NaNoWriMo.