I arose bright and early on Friday morning to Dave's homemade breakfast of champions; peppers, eggs, and bacon. I then continued on to the magic carpet, where I ate snow many times. I was set up with skis, boots, poles, and a nice local Vermonter named Jack, who desperately tried to teach me how to ski. His frozen beard was quite the accessory. He offered much advice, and I kind of learned how to pizza. I was scared of dieing and did not pack enough pairs of underwear for this trip. After a mere hour and fifteen minutes, my feet were throbbing thanks to my flat footed-ness. My skis did not match my helmet, and I knew it was time to call it quits. I am not sure how I can wear six inch heels, but not ski boots. I found my way to the cafeteria where I sat and watched many ski lodge goers drink beer at eleven in the morning, while I hydrated with some steamy hot chocolate. There is a whole new world out there; young, wild, free, and not for me
(Insert picture: This is me, attempting to ski, steering with my hips.)Today, I needed to recover from my back country adventure. I went on a snow shoeing trek over winding mountains, where I conveniently arrived at a coffee shop and enjoyed a delicious berry smoothy. The crisp coolness of the blueberry quenched my thirst. I enjoyed the frozen flavor as it slithered down my throat.
I continued my day with a trip to the spa. I was unaware of the proper under the robe etiquette, I decided to keep them on. BAD CHOICE. I met a nice mountain man and enjoyed my own sweat in a sauna.
In summary, skiing is not for me. I have not had an opportunity to wear anything leopard, and I rather have Loubitons than ski boots. Ta-ta for now, I am off to enjoy a loss in boggle with my dearest greatest best sincerest acquaintance ever.
*Parental Advisory...THIS WAS NOT WRITTEN BY ME....ThankyourverymuchSimonaFried