Last year I bought an exercise bicycle at the Goodwill for $10. I did this because I thought I maybe kinda sorta would give it a try. Maybe, possibly. See, it was only $10, which was important because then, later, when I never used it ever ever ever, at least I wouldn't feel guilty for not exercising AND for wasting money.
Except then I actually used it, and I used it a lot. A lot for me, anyway, which was anywhere from 90-120 minutes a week. It was uncomfortable, to be sure - most of the time I would hop off of that sucker at the end and my ladyparts would be completely numb. NUMB. MY LADYPARTS. That's right, you get quality and value in your blog reading here at Not Too Crazy! But even with my brain missing my ladyparts for the duration, I rode that damned bike.
And then I broke it. I broke it but good, too, snapped one of the pedal arm thingie whoosits in a way that was either unrepairable entirely, or at least cost-effectively.
That was some number of weeks ago. I've been shopping around for a new - actually really for serious retail-new new - bike, but. All the bikes I looked at seemed not to meet what I needed in one way or another, or if they did I would add them to my amazon cart to deliberate for a few days and then they'd go out of stock.
So, today, I happened upon the perfect bike (it's even one of the chair kind, not the ladyparts-killer-bike-seat-kind) and so of course, I told Tim. Sweet, understanding, long-suffering Tim, who has listened to me hem and haw and waffle and complain about exercise bikes for what has turned into months, you guys. Months. And I continued to waffle, even during the course of this conversation, but then:
Timothy: and look, hands-free
me: i'm still waffling btw
Timothy: you could do ROUTINE KNITTING in this thing
me: HOLY SHIT SOLD
He wins at being my husband. For real.