I know I need to exercise. I would say “exercise more” but that would imply I do a little bit and I don’t.

So, I had a brilliant idea on Saturday.

Let me just say that my husband hates my brilliant ideas. They usually involve moving furniture.

My cousin Tammi and I share the same genetic affliction we inherited from our Grandma Christine–the uncontrollable desire to rearrange the furniture.

I decided to  move my little stair climber machine (cheap, but usable) from my bedroom(upstairs) to my office(downstairs). My thought was that as I am writing and I get writer’s block I could climb a few stairs to get the blood pumping to the brain–either that or hang upside down (click Here for this explanation).

But instead of telling my husband my true purpose for the move, I asked him to move the stair climber to my office so I wouldn’t have to climb the stairs to the bedroom.

Yes, my husband is still living with me. Go figure. He must be crazy. Because, I’m certainly not. Right? Right? I’m not, am I?