Ski Princess, NOT

I spoke with my fabulous cousins yesterday and in the course of our conversation, they mentioned our upcoming holiday together, which will be spent at a ski resort in Vermont.

I am looking forward to the vacation because I love them. I love their kids. We are totally comfortable together and my South African cousin has made cursing an art form.

I am not looking forward to skiing, snow, slush and winter jackets that won't zip up over my bust. Nobody looks good in ski gear. We all resemble the Michelin Man. I used to live in British Columbia, where some of the greatest ski resorts can be found but I never enjoyed it. Oh sure, I'd go with all of my friends and they would talk moguls and black diamonds. I'd wave to them and labour over to the bunny hills where four year olds with green snot would glide past me and make perfect snowplow stops. Not me. If I needed to stop, I

a)fell

b)purposely sat down (not recommended as it really hacks people off who are behind you)

c)or came in contact with a stationary object which usually meant that I laid a fellow skiier out. As I mentioned before, the "other skiier" was usually fresh out of diapers so parents hated me. I was the bunny hill menace.

"Take lessons." Um, yup. Nothing like stating the obvious.

And then there is the gear. It takes half the stinking morning to get the stuff on and there is something about being locked into the ski that gives me pause. I know that if there is great force, the boot will disengage itself from the ski but think about that for a minute. Great force. Bone-breaking, ankle-shattering, ACL-tearing, leg-up-over-your-ears (involuntarily) force. In spite of the fact that I have given birth to two children, I do not have a high pain tolerance. I am also pretty partial to breathing without the aid of a ventilator. From what I understand of the sport, trees do not yield the right of way. So...

Skiing scares me.

There is hope, however. Sistah cousin recently informed me that there are short skis now that behave in much the same manner as hockey skates. (cue heavens parting and angels singing)
I asked her if they came with poles and she said, "Have you no shame?"

Okay, so no poles but I know that I can skate. I used to skate really well. Of course, back then, I had a hockey stick for balance. Nevermind. If these ski skates turn out to be real, I may never have to roll down another bunny hill again.

Note to self: check Victoria's Secret for long underwear to offset Michelin effect.