Gimpy for Christmas, that's me.
First thing this morning, knee-deep in powder, I discovered rather loudly and indignatly that falling down hurts. As a devout bookworm and daughter of delicate academics, I've only recently learned how to go outside and play with the other children, you see, so it actually was kind of a rude surprise. Poor Char1es had to see my complete and total lack of survival skills in action, which will probably haunt his dreams. I'm fine, of course. One ligament strained and possibly a litte torn, but no more. Nonetheless, it is apparently the culmination of a bunch of little injuries to the ligament, so I have crutches, tensor bandages, a prescription for physio and all that fun stuff. I DID get to be the envy of the entire emergency room, however, which made it all worthwhile. Char1es and Janet brought me chicken soup, pizza from Crazyweed (my favorite restaurant) and all manner of fancy Starbucks drinks while I waited. No girl has ever been thus spoiled, I tell you. Frankly, when you consider that I wiped out on the first third of the first run of the day, I'm lucky they didn't just leave me there as a sacrifice to the ski gods. Do ski gods only accept virgin sacrifices or something? I can't imagine that they do. Frankly, I don't think anyone would be able to find a virgin within a 100-mile radius of the ski hills.
Cori, would you care to bounce around on my skis next weekend? You can show them how it's really done. If memory serves me correctly, your feet are the same kind of tiny as mine.
Otherwise, I am far more excited about Christmas than befits a well-adjusted adult. It's almost embarassing, really.
Also, given my social circle and penchant for unconventional situations, it's tricky to find people who will watch A Child's Christmas in Wales or bake fancy cookies with me. The results are sometimes a bit odd; one of my favorite hooligans helped me bake cookies with my mother this year. I don't know who was the most scarred. Perhaps it's the Norman Rockwell Christmas for a my generation.
Eight more sleeps, kids!
First thing this morning, knee-deep in powder, I discovered rather loudly and indignatly that falling down hurts. As a devout bookworm and daughter of delicate academics, I've only recently learned how to go outside and play with the other children, you see, so it actually was kind of a rude surprise. Poor Char1es had to see my complete and total lack of survival skills in action, which will probably haunt his dreams. I'm fine, of course. One ligament strained and possibly a litte torn, but no more. Nonetheless, it is apparently the culmination of a bunch of little injuries to the ligament, so I have crutches, tensor bandages, a prescription for physio and all that fun stuff. I DID get to be the envy of the entire emergency room, however, which made it all worthwhile. Char1es and Janet brought me chicken soup, pizza from Crazyweed (my favorite restaurant) and all manner of fancy Starbucks drinks while I waited. No girl has ever been thus spoiled, I tell you. Frankly, when you consider that I wiped out on the first third of the first run of the day, I'm lucky they didn't just leave me there as a sacrifice to the ski gods. Do ski gods only accept virgin sacrifices or something? I can't imagine that they do. Frankly, I don't think anyone would be able to find a virgin within a 100-mile radius of the ski hills.
Cori, would you care to bounce around on my skis next weekend? You can show them how it's really done. If memory serves me correctly, your feet are the same kind of tiny as mine.
Otherwise, I am far more excited about Christmas than befits a well-adjusted adult. It's almost embarassing, really.
Also, given my social circle and penchant for unconventional situations, it's tricky to find people who will watch A Child's Christmas in Wales or bake fancy cookies with me. The results are sometimes a bit odd; one of my favorite hooligans helped me bake cookies with my mother this year. I don't know who was the most scarred. Perhaps it's the Norman Rockwell Christmas for a my generation.
Eight more sleeps, kids!
Seriously made my morning. I think Crispix came out my nose a little.
As for skiing next weekend, I wish I could but I'll be on the Island as of early Saturday morning. And if you had just ASKED, I'm sure you would have found a more than willing cookie baking buddy!
Hope Santy brings you some new and improved tendons!