The Exercise Ball Saga: Part One

Amy and I have really great ideas most of the time.

No, seriously.  Last week, Amy suddenly got the idea that she wanted to get an exercise ball to sit on at her desk instead of our fancy ergnomically correct desk chairs.  Naturally, me having the I-want-to-be-a-cool-kid complex that I have due to the fact that I grew up being a nerd, I wanted one too.  And we didn't want to wait around for these exercise balls... we're all about instant gratification.

Amy: "You want me to pick you up an exercise ball at Target?"

Me: "Uhm well I think I'm going to Target anyway so I can just get one myself."

Amy: "Do you want to go to Target...together??"

We realize that a brilliant plan has started.

So that night we met up at Target and spent approximately eleven minutes picking out which exercise balls we wanted to buy.  The best part was that they were only NINE dollars!  The next morning, we were both way too enthusiastic to wake up at the crack of dawn and get to work to play with our new toys.

We quickly realized, however, that we had a serious problem:

Amy: "Uhh... this ball is looking sort of small.  Like, really small."

Me: "It's not even blown up yet!  WHERE IS YOUR POSITIVITY?!"

I slap Amy across the face to show her who's boss.

Amy continues to pump up her exercise ball, feeling wounded and alone.  I stand over her, triumphant.

(Just kidding about that last part).

Meanwhile, I start to pump up my exercise ball.  My pump, for some reason, squeaks like a dog's chew toy.  Sue in the cubicle across from me glares.  I ignore her.

Amy: "Maybe you should use Jay's pump so that you don't sound like a fool."

Me: "Sounding like a fool is my job.  But okay."

I switch pumps.  Jay's sounds like a squeaky toy too.  I wonder why things like this always happen to me.  Sue glares at me again.  I ignore her.

Back to the serious problem part:

Amy: "Courtney, this ball is like one foot tall.  This ball sucks."

The ball, indeed, is about one foot tall.  Amy sits on it.  She looks like a fool.

Me: "Well... I guess we need to go back to Target."

We begrudgingly and noisily deflated our exercise balls and packaged them back up.  Somehow, the ball does not fit into the package that it once came in.  (Why?  Why does that always happen??)  Still being fans of instant gratification, Amy and I made plans to go to Target during our lunch hour.  To the outside observer, the immediacy of this action might seem unnecessary.  To us, however...

It was dire.

At approximately 11:48am, we pulled up to Target and returned our exercise balls.  We were both disappointed when only nine dollars was refunded to us because we forgot how cheap the exercise balls were.  We each shed a single tear.  Then we spent approximately fourteen minutes picking out new exercise balls, which included sitting on yoga mats that we thought would adequately measure how high our new chairs would be.  Passerby stared at us.  We gave them the finger.

In the end, it came down to the choice between a MEDIUM sized ball and a LARGE sized ball.  The decision was difficult:

Amy: "I really don't know what to do."

Me: "We have a fifty-fifty chance.  Listen, I sat on that yoga mat and it seemed good to me."

Amy: "Yeah, and you looked like an idiot"

Me: "Here, I'll do it again right now."

Amy: "Stop it, you embarass me."

Me: "I go to therapy because of your criticism.  Why don't you accept me?"

Amy: "Deal with it."

Me: "Let's get the medium one."

Amy: "Okay.  Let's do it."

So we each grabbed a medium-sized exercise ball and headed for the checkout.  At the register, looks of tentative enthusiasm crossed our faces.  If we only knew what was to come...

To be continued...