Suzanne à Grenoble

we went skiing on saturday and i thought i was going to die--not from falling down an ice-slicked mountain, but from a blow by the boyfriend who couldn't believe how much of a baby I am when it comes to life-threatening situations. When we got our skis on and started to get in line for the lift, I started freaking out because I hadn't skiied in at least 10 years and I thought it would all come back to me, but it didn't. And to go skiing in the Alps when all you've really tackled is Wisconsin, well... it's a bit intimidating. So we went up the mountain, and my newfound fear of skiing grew mightier and mightier with each tug of the lift line above us. I knew there was only one way to get down and it wasn't going to be pretty. I will leave out the pathetic details of how I slowly made my way down each slope for dignity's sake. But I will say that I felt pretty silly each time a four-year old breezed past me while I inched my way down like a little old lady...
Gil was not playing the part of the sensitive nurturing teacher type. He was all about tough-love, which I wasn't having. Somehow, telling someone just to "go for it" when they're facing a 70 degree drop isn't that effective.