Halfway down a mountain overlooking Lake Tahoe, I think grimly: I will eviscerate him first. And then…then I’ll look for a den of bears. Bears must be hiding here in this bone-chilling Sierra mountain – and I’ll show them the way to my boyfriend’s (make that ex-boyfriend’s) body.
This occurs back in the time when my guy was a new guy in my life. Upon reading this memory, you may wind up amazed that he’s still my guy and not long gone.
You may think me cold and heartless to harbor such thoughts, but after reading about his insistence during our early romance to drive to Squaw Valley at Lake Tahoe where “I’ll teach you to ski – it’s easy. You’ll have it down in one easy lesson” – you’ll come away believing my hope to torture him with an electric prod rather tame.
My question while my heart races faster than a champion horse and as pure terror fills my veins like cold blood in a vampire, my question at the time is – WHO could be mean enough, or clueless enough, to think he can teach a neophyte who grew up in flat Southern New Jersey to ski in one frozen weekend?
My almost-former boyfriend, that’s who.
Despite an MIT degree and pure brain brilliance (at times…), he deduces that showing a long-legged, clumsy, quirky (but endearing) woman who loves manicures and pedicures, who reads books as if they’re pieces of (dark) chocolate, and who owns three tubes of pink peony lipstick, to ski will be a piece of cake.
“Don’t cross your skis!” he shouts at I attempt the beginner trail (which at Squaw Valley is at the TOP of the mountain – go figure).
“No shit,” I return in my dainty feminine way. Well, that’s the problem – usually I am a dainty feminine woman, but who can look sexy and feminine in a one-piece purple polyester ski jumper?
Yes, that’s what he’s borrowed from his good friend Debbie, who works at the ski resort. Secretly, I guess she wants to make me look like a dork – well done, I moan as I land on my tush in a pile of hard snow.
Who knew snow feels like rock? It’s supposed to be soft and cushy and pillowy, like in “White Christmas” when Bing (Crosby) and Rosemary (Clooney) and Danny (Kaye) get all gooey-eyed because flakes of white puffy snow twirl down onto their song-and-dance routine.
“I hate snow,” I declare to my new guy, but he doesn’t hear because my skis take on a life of their own and I begin to move, move, faster and faster and…
(Photos thanks to Google Images.)