You know those little wussy dogs that bark and growl and carry on like they’re big tough dogs? That’s me on the ski slopes.
In other words, in spite of the fact that I’m an entirely mediocre skier, I seem to be unable to resist the temptation of slopes that are beyond my current abilities. Illustrative anecdote: one time, when I was in high school, I ended up dangling from the branches of a tree on some double-black death-bowl. My (far more talented) ski buddies had to ride the lift back up and traverse over to get me down. No one, including me, could quite figure out how it happened.
But that doesn’t stop me from spotting a steep mogul-pocked slope from the chair and saying: “Hey, that looks like fun!” Yap, yap, yap. A poodle who thinks she’s a pit bull.
Do dogs have nine lives, too? I hope so.
Knock on wood, I’ve never been physically unable to get down one of these runs. But it’s usually pretty ugly.
I’m fortunate to have patient companions.
And I usually forget about the terror and humiliation just long enough to stop me from doing something stupid again. Today.
Whatever. Groomers are for pussies, anyway.
Hope you’re having a wonderful Monday! See you all later on with some regularly scheduled running and wine chatter. But right now, I have an important appointment with the hot tub.
It’s a rough life out here.