Friday, 2 May 2014
Ah, hello there. Didn't expect to see me so soon? Well, here I am. You can't stop reading now, so go ahead, read it all. (Man, I sound like one of those stupid Facebook chain messages. "Breathe six times and clap your heels together and you'll find one million and five dollars in two years!") Yeah. Teenagers. A breed I will never understand. Wait, I forgot..you're such a hypocrite, Monique.
Okay...A smidge of topic.
How about a story? I think a story is a great idea. Only, you should be reading a good story, not this trash. Emphasis on the good.
Heh. It all started one day on an innocent lump of snow. I mean, a lump of snow with some lumber, and metal and ice. I mean a ski hill. The funny thing about ski hills is that people on ski hills are always thinking the same thing. That's why people bond on ski hills. Because they're all thinking exactly one thing.
"OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO DIE! GET ME OFF OF HERE!"
Except those people who spend tons of money on spandex and messed up ski poles. I'm pointing at you, family of six loud children taking up a full table for your *Spandex*. During the ski season my family would take me skiing almost every weekend, and this time we were on our way to meet a couple of my dad's friends. (Psst, I'm hiding everyone's identity, so they'll avoid total embarrassment.) I, personally am just a blue and green skier. Less chance of death by tree. Only my dad's friends were the *Spandex* type family. The only difference was, they didn't have funky poles or wear spandex. About a couple hours into the day, they began to get a little bored with the runs we were doing and decided "Hey, let's take the Gold chair even though you guys are blue/green skiers!"
Reluctantly, I took the chairlift. The first thing I noticed was that the were comfy. I mean, really comfy. So comfy, that I almost fell off due to the slippery comfy-ness. And I thought, hmm, are they doing this because they know you'll probably die on the top of the mountain, so they just pamper you with comfy chairlifts? Hmm..seems legitimate. After a bit of hyperventilating and angry muttering I seemed okay.
Until we reached the spawn of satanic origin. THE MOGULS.
So, long story short, I ended up taking the moguls by following my dad's friends, climbed up a mountain twice, and spent half-an-hour trying to get my skis on whilst on a mogul. After some frantic screaming and craziness I got over it.
(NO NOT REALLY.)
Glad I could share this story with you. Enjoy this photo of a girl who isn't me, but might as well be.