HI, My Name Is Married with Four Children

I went snowboarding/skiing this past weekend with my hubby and son. That is to say, my husband went snowboarding, my son went skiing, and I looked rather like I was trying to get an ironing board with a mind of its own to cooperate and swish down the mountain.

The morning was gorgeous. Fourteen inches of fresh powder over the past 48 hours and very few crowds, which basically meant that every time I fell, I only injured myself and not others. It was perfect. After we got back from our jerky and Pringles lunch, a huge crowd had begun to form next to the lift. We found out that a local university had sent up the entire campus for a lesson. At least it looked that way. Each instructor had about twelve to fifteen undergrads waiting to be taught how to slide, hopefully in control, down a mountain with either one large piece of fiberglass strapped to both legs or two smaller pieces of fiberglass strapped to either leg.

On a certain run, my hubby suggested that we take an intermediate slope rather than a beginner’s slope to try and avoid the crowds. I went considerably faster than my son. He is cautious; I simply swooshed down the slope however my board would take me, heedless of the consequences. My hubby stayed with my son. So, I found myself going along by my little lonesome. I was using the snowboard snowplow, or falling leaf technique. I actually haven’t learned to do anything else, but it gets me down the mountain, and I have fun. Still, I do make wide, sweeping turns, sometimes going where people don’t expect me to. Sometimes right into an undergrad’s path, apparently.

One of the local university guys was on skis for the first time, right behind me. I was in front of him, so he should have seen me. He did see me; he just didn’t know how to stop. His skis went over my board. He did a not-so-graceful somersault into me and I landed on my rear end.

I apologized. He apologized. Then he said, “Hey, this is not the typical way to meet girls, but maybe it’s a good way. My name is Scott. What’s yours?”

I couldn’t believe I was getting hit on by someone at least ten years younger than I am, and right after he’d plowed into me no less. To be fair, I was in a helmet and goggles, gloves on my hands so no ring was visible. So it’s not like he could really tell what I looked like. Otherwise, I’m sure he would have skied the other way as fast as his non-skiing legs could have carried him. As it was, I smiled a big smile and said, “My name’s Andrea. I’m married with four kids, so maybe this isn’t the best way to meet girls after all.”

Then, I got up swooshed down the mountain and chuckled all the way to the lift. I saw Scott later, skis in hand, walking down the slope. I hope my comment didn’t ruin his skiing day. Because his comment kind of made mine. Thanks, Scott, whoever you are. You made my recalcitrant ironing board feel like a royal carriage.

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