I Love Skiing

Three words I never expected to write in sequence: I. Love. Skiing. 

As you may recall, Blair decided--on a whim--to take us skiing. Our private ski lesson was this morning at 8 am. "Ralph" was replaced with "Jim," an infinitely patient and capable instructor. The lift didn't open until 9 so our timing was perfect--we got in and got our equipment and had our practice session before any real crowds showed up. 

This was a good thing as "I love skiing" does not necessarily equate to "I am good at skiing."

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"Men Don't Share Clothes"

As we saw in yesterday's post, Facebook friends have been generous with hooking me up with attire for the rapidly approaching Smug Married Ski-athon. Yesterday, my friend Christie's husband asked her, "What about Blair?"

"What about him?" she said. 

"Dena's got ski clothes now. What's Blair going to wear?"

"I have no idea," said Christie. "All I'm concerned with is that my girl is going to look hot enough to melt snow." (Perhaps you can see why we're friends.) 

"We men have to stick together," said Mike. "Blair can borrow my ski jacket." 

How nice is that? I made arrangements to pick the jacket up this weekend. However, when I mentioned the jacket to Blair last night, he shook his head. 

"Men don't share clothes."

"You're kidding me, right?" I asked. "This isn't sharing clothes. It's a jacket. You wear your own clothes underneath it."

"Men don't share clothes." 

"Are you telling me you'd rather spend a bunch of money on a new ski jacket that's probably only going to be worn this one time? That makes no sense."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," said Blair. "And you know why?"

"Don't even," I warned. 

"Because. Men. Don't. Share. Clothes." 

I'm going with Blair tomorrow to look at--and most likely purchase--ski attire from Sports Authority. However, I'm also bringing home Mike's jacket on Sunday for Blair to try on. That's when the real battle of wits will begin. 

If we don't settle it here, we'll battle it out on the slopes. 

Cheers,

Dena 

Ski Trip

Blair has decided to take me skiing. 

I don't know what, specifically, I did to anger him but I've spent time apologizing profusely for any and all perceived hurts, slights, insults, or injuries. It hasn't fazed him. He appears determined to get me up on skis. 

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