Biff has been working at a ski resort for a couple of months now, and a perk he receives is discounted lift tickets and rentals. I thought for sure Biff would invite some of his friends and I would have a nice relaxing day or two alone with some coffee and cookies and television. No. Biff decided he thinks he can teach me to ski. Me. SKIING.
I have lived here in the Lake Tahoe area for about a decade. In all that time, I have been skiing once. And I thought that once was enough for me. Gravity and I came to a mutual understanding that day. We respect each other, but when icy, wet snow is added into the equation, we don’t understand each other.
But Biff thinks he can teach me. Hmpf, I say. If a PAID PROFESSIONAL couldn’t do it last time, what makes him think he can teach me this time. If “pizza” and “french fries” couldn’t get me down the mountain in one piece, what makes him think he can? At least he can carry me.
Biff thinks that if it is warm, I will enjoy it more. What he doesn’t understand is that I don’t like the falling down part. It isn’t so much the cold, it is the falling down hard on my cold butt that I don’t like.
But. Being the ever-awesome fiance that I am, I promised him that he could try to teach me this weekend. That is why I am writing this entry a little bit in advance: just in case I don’t make it back alive. Please make sure to tell Biff my last words were: I told you so.