Don’t Funk With Me!
While I was looking for things to be miserable about yesterday, I managed to put bad attitude on ice for a couple of hours. We finally got motivated enough to make a move to the ski hill at around eleven. We tend not to feel overly guilty about not getting up there over the holidays as the crowds can be wildly irritating. Wait another week and we’ll have the hill to ourselves.
Anyways, after 45 minutes getting everyone off their respective couches (ahem!) and screens, and into snowpants and all the other paraphernalia, we were out. 12 minutes, door to door. Goes into the Annals of Gratitude, as how fortunate is that? We even managed to get parking close to the lift. I was on Fidge duty, wrenching lower back and knees, bent awkwardly and uncomfortably on platter, while LoverMan(?!?) was to take the boys up the chair. One glitch. The feet of Sally Beasley Bean could not, would not, be squeezed, squished or crammed into brand new ski boots.
“Did the guy switch pairs on us?”
Cram, shove, wail, cram, shove, “ooooowwwwwwwwwww!….”
“Ummm… and I would know that, why?”
Cram, shove, wail, cram, shove, “They are hurrrrrtiiiiiiing my toooooooooooes!…..”
“They fit him in the store?!?!?”
Cram, shove, wail, cram, shove, “They doooooooooon’t fiiiiiiiiiiit!…..”
“Yes, you saw him walk around in them….”
Cram, shove, wail, cram, shove, “Ooooooooooowwwwwwwwww!…..”
“$%&*&%@!$@$&*%$#@#$%&*!!!!”
Beasley, with a little too much satisfaction, went to enjoy some poutine and hot chocolate in the lounge while we initiated our respective slopes. Zip got some great Dad-time.
Despite certain fear and apprehension anticipating another ear splitting, skull cracking (my own, of course) season of coercing- I mean, encouraging- banshee child down bunny slope… all was well. No screaming. No wailing. No shrieks reverberating off the valley walls. Not once, in our two runs, did I ever feel as though a dull knitting needle had been inserted into my ear and deep into the fleshy bits of my brain.
Did someone say sofa?
