My well-intentioned husband bought me a Fitbit, but I’m practically hanging my head in ungrateful shame as I return it. To get the most out of my Fitbit, I need to wear it all the time, shackling me like an I’m-on-house-arrest ankle bracelet. What does this say about me if I return a gift because I don’t like it? What kind of monster am I?
From hair loss to heel spurs, middle age can slowly ravage your body from head to toe. It all starts innocently enough, with a suspicious mole here and a high-cholesterol count there, here a pound, there a pound, everywhere a pound, pound. At first, I barely even noticed the small, sporadic changes that began to crop up – the stray… Read more »