Pain-filled Wii tragedy

Part of my regular Thanksgiving visit is the traditional laundry list of reminders from the parents. Do grad school applications. Make Christmas plans. Remember to bathe. Normal stuff, really, but there’s one that always gives me trouble.

“Come up with something you want for Christmas.” This was accompanied by a subtle reference to my sister’s birthday present, a brand new iPod. They were either giving me a target price or telling me about their empty bank account.

Anyway, I was looking at prices on the Interblag, and I couldn’t help noticing that an iPod had the same price as another sleek, white, sexy piece of electronics.

The Wii.

Of course, I don’t really need a Wii. I can always be a bum and use the one in my ex-roommates’ room. Besides, I’m not sure I have the physical fitness for this newfangled entertainment device.

I tried out the nifty Wii Sports game that comes with the system. Boxing, golf, Tai Chi... it was all pretty cool. But about halfway through a rousing game of Jai-Alai, I noticed that the room had become uncomfortably hot. I was breathing like an asthmatic basset hound in Darth Vader armor.

Now, I’ve always known I wasn’t in the best shape, but I didn’t think I was that bad. There was something about the Wii, though, that left me winded. Maybe it was the strain of the advanced technology, or the extreme weight of that remote. Regardless, my girlfriend wasn’t all that sympathetic when I ended up flat on my back with my muscles on fire.

Oh, I’m sure she was trying for a look of sympathetic concern, but her expression made it clear that she was holding back laughter of the I-told-you-so variety. She wants me to go on walks, you see. Outside.

Out of doors.

So I’m not sure about Wii for Christmas. Maybe I should stick with my backup plan of a Gas Powered Party Blender, complete with handlebars. I’ll be able to make piña coladas and daquiris, even on those dreaded walks.